#first I missed the storming of the capital

[bubvy]

If I had a nickel every time I was watching a stream when an insane event happened in America, I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice.

[writemekpop]

Make Up Sex | Lee Jeno

Summary: You've been hiding a big secret from your husband Jeno. What happens when he finds out?

Genre: Established relationship AU, angsty, suggestive, baby daddy Jeno

Word Count: 1k

A/n: We're baaaaaack! We're sorry it's been a while, so here have some juicy Jeno baby daddy angst xx requests are open!

It was past midnight when you got home from work. You felt terrible for missing Mac's bedtime for the fifth time this week.

Right now, all you wanted was to curl up in bed next to your husband Jeno and sleep for a year.

You tiptoed into the living room and set your bag down on the sofa. You flicked on the light, and saw Jeno sat at the dining table.

You yelped. "Jeno, what were you doing sitting in the dark?"

Jeno didn't reply. That's when you realised something was off with him. He was sat bolt upright, jaw clenched, hands balled up into fists.

Even though he was sat there in his blue polkadot pyjamas, he looked threatening. His dark hair framed his frown.

You edged closer. "What's the matter?"

Then you saw the bunch of folded letters in his hand. Your heart dropped into your stomach.

"Jeno, I can explain..."

Jeno met your eyes for the first time. His brown eyes were ice cold.

"When were you going to tell me about this?" He spat.

You pulled out the chair next to Jeno and sat down. You put your arm on his shoulder, but he flinched away from your touch.

Jeno shoved a piece of paper into your hands. "This is an offer letter for a job in Argentina."

You gulped.

Jeno flipped through the other letters. "It says here you applied six times." He said. "You applied for a job on the other side of the world six times and you didn't think to tell me about it once?"

You couldn't tell if Jeno looked more angry or just hurt.

"I was going to tell you..."

Jeno scoffed. "When? From the plane? Or were you just going to call me from... Rio or whatever the fuck the capital of Argentina is."

"I didn't think I'd actually get in..."

Jeno rolled his eyes.

You frowned. "You know, this is actually a really big deal. This is one of the most prestigious jobs in the world for a conservation biologist. Why can't you just be proud of me?"

Jeno stood up, the chair screaming against the wooden floor. He bowed dramatically.

"Congratulations, Y/n."

Tears pricked your eyes. "You don't have to be sarcastic."

Jeno stormed out of the living room, slamming the door.

You winced, tiptoeing behind him. "Shh, you'll wake Mac!" You eyed the door to the nursery, which was ajar.

"So now you remember we have a son! Are you just going to deprive your toddler of his mother for a whole year?"

"It's actually a two year programme..." you said, eyeing the carpet.

Jeno tugged his hand through his hair. "Well that's just perfect."

You followed Jeno into the bedroom.

"You know, Y/n. Normal people have affairs. They don't sneak off behind their partner's back and get a job a thousand miles away."

You slumped onto the bed, sighing. "Jeno, I just feel like I'm wasting away at my current job. I know I was made for some thing bigger. The project I'll be working on is to create an entirely new source of green energy. We could change the world."

Jeno sat down beside you on the bed. "I didn't know you hated your job."

You edged closer to Jeno, closing the gap between you and him on the bed. You tentatively touched his arm. He didn't push you away this time.

You traced your fingers up his biceps, across his neck and settled on his cheek. Jeno shut his eyes and leaned his face into your hand.

You looked as his dark eyelashes, and his plump lips. You just wanted to kiss his pain away.

Jeno kept his eyes squeezed shut as he spoke. "To me, you and Mac are my whole world. Are we not enough for you?" His voice cracked. "Am I not enough for you?"

You gulped. You knew what the answer was, but somehow, the words wouldn't come out.

You held Jeno's face in your hands. Then you leaned forwards and kissed him, hard.

Jeno grunted in surprise, but he quickly started to kiss you back. His large hands found your waist, and he pulled you onto his lap, so that you were straddling him.

You drank up Jeno's taste, the faint peach scent of his shampoo, the feel of his hard body underneath you.

You broke the kiss for a second, and pullled your shirt off. You unclasped your bra. The look in your husband's eyes was close to feral.

You were used to slow and gentle love making, with lots of soft smiles and giggles. This was completely different. Your entire body felt alight.

Jeno yanked off his own top. You eyed his muscled body, mouth watering. He picked you up in one arm and dropped you on the centre of the bed. He lay himself on top of you.

You kissed his neck whilst he took off the rest of your clothes.

Jeno dived between your legs, making you gasp.

--

After, you lay with your head on Jeno's chest. You were both still naked. The rhythmic thumping of Jeno's heart calmed your haywire nerves.

After a while of comfortable silence, Jeno cleared his throat.

"We're going to have to get Mac some sunglasses, for when we come down to visit. I hear it's pretty sunny in Argentina."

You shot up and turned to look at Jeno. His dark fringe was coveirng his eyes, and his cheeks were flushed.

"You're okay with me going?" You exclaimed.

Jeno sat up too. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into a hug.

"You should have told me sooner," Jeno said. "But... of course I'm happy for you. I always knew you were going to change the world. I'm sorry about how I reacted."

You couldn't stop the tears from falling down your cheeks. You buried your head in his shoulder and cried.

"I love you," you said, between sobs. "I'm sorry for keeping this from you."

Jeno wiped your tears away with his thumbs. He smiled. "Has anyone told you you're an ugly crier?"

You snorted. Jeno started to laugh, which made you laugh too. The tension in the room melted away, leaving only love.

You ran a finger down the centre of Jeno's chest, making him shudder with pleasure.

Jeno pulled the blanket over you both. "Two years isn't that long, when you think about it. Not when we've got forever."

"You helpless romantic, you..."

Let us know what you thought in the comments or on anon! 💋

—

MAIN MASTERLIST

[hederasgarden]

Like Oil and Water

Summary: Your office power struggle with Scott comes to a head. Paring: Scott (Twisters) x F!Scientist!Reader Word Count: 2.1K Rating: Mature, 18+ only. Enemies to lovers trope, PIV sex, fingering, and dirty talk. Slight angst.  A/N: The story is based on this ask I received. I know there are like…five Scott fans out there besides me so I hope y’all like this. I have no explanation for this fic except I’m horny for Scott. I had an alternative ending to this story but whoops feelings crept in. Thank you to @ryebecca, @whatblogisthis216 and @a-reader-and-a-writer for looking this over. The snazzy summary is courtesy of @writercole.

Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day. 

David Corenswet Characters Masterlist

“I’m never picking up your coffee order again,” Javi swears, handing the Starbucks cup to you. “Whatever happened to coffee with a little bit of cream?”

“Capitalism,” you reply, taking a sip. It wasn’t exactly how you liked it, missing that deep caramel flavor, but you appreciate Javi’s effort. “Thanks again.”

He nods, drinking from his cup as you make your way down to the labs, discussing the results from the latest test. 

“We will need to adjust the relays, but other than that, I think we’re in good shape,” you tell him. “I’ll let the techs know we need those changes made this week.”

“Sounds good. I gotta make a quick call, but I’ll join you after,” Javi promises, disappearing into his office while you make your way down the hall.

You hear the low timber of Scott's voice before you spot him in conversation with one of the female techs. You loathe to admit it but he looks good, his tanned forearms on display with the sleeves of his white company shirt rolled up. The baseball cap tucked into his back pocket and dusty boots let you know he probably came straight from the field. 

"We need to fix the relays. They failed the test. Again. That's unacceptable," he begins, gearing up for another one of his infamous lectures. "Back when I was at MIT, this type of calibration was the first thing we were taught."

Scott may have been one of the smartest guys on Javi’s team but he was also a smug asshole. From the moment you met him, he irritated you, reminding you of every man who thought he was smarter and better than you just because of his gender. Everyone expected engineers to be difficult to work with, but Scott took it to another level. Who could blame you for taking him down a peg or two when you had the chance?

"So you went to MIT. Big whoop," you begin, delighted to see Scott tense up at the sound of your voice. When he turns to face you, the tech is quick to scurry away. "Call me when you have a PhD from a real school, like Caltech, Scotty."

He hates it when you call him that but today it's your jab about MIT that strikes a nerve. A muscle in his jaw jumps, and he exhales harshly. God, that angry look in his eye really did something for you. Too bad his looks couldn’t make up for how much of a dick he could be. 

Scott practically spits your first name out, stepping into your space to loom over you. His broad shoulders and muscular build block your view of the lab. You tilt your head to look at him, fighting the urge to smile. "You really should address me as ‘doctor,’" you calmly remind him, tapping your name badge. 

You arch a brow, waiting for his response but his mouth snaps shut, attention moving to something behind you. 

It’s Javi.

"Come on guys," he sighs. "Play nice."

You glance over your shoulder, smiling sweetly. "I'm always nice.”

"Why are you even in the labs today?" Scott questions, glancing down at your heels. 

You smooth a hand down your dress and smile. "I'm the Vice President of R&D for Storm Par. These are my labs. I belong here.”

"Dressed like that?" He scoffs. 

"What, you don't like it?" You ask, turning in a slow circle. 

"We had a meeting with some new investors," Javi supplies, trying to cut off the start of another fight between the two of you. 

Scott turns away and you can practically hear his teeth grinding together. He still hasn’t forgiven you for talking Javi out of letting his uncle invest in the company. It would have been easy money but you never liked the business plan. It was best to stick with government grants and investors without any personal connections. 

Javi touches your arm. “Come on, we gotta finish that grant.”

You hum in agreement, trailing behind him to the doorway. Pausing, you glance back and catch Scott watching you, his lips pressed into a thin line. With a grin, you wiggle your fingers at him, amused to see the furrow in his brow deepen even further.

The rest of your day is blessedly Scott-free and you spend your time buried in meetings and wading through needlessly complicated grant submissions. Javi employed some of the smartest people you’ve ever had the privilege of working with but they were terrible when it came to making the science digestible to investors. You sigh, rubbing your temples. It was going to be a long night.

You work uninterrupted, buried in the complexities of the grant, until Scott storms into your office, slamming the door behind him. “Did you tell the techs they could go home early?�� he demands.

“Please, do come in,” you deadpan, setting aside the papers you’re holding.

“Did you send them home?” He repeats, rounding your desk and invading your personal space. At his side, his hands are clenched into fists, the veins in his neck standing out.

“I did.” You rise to your full height but even in heels, he dwarfs you. 

“That wasn’t your call.”

“You do remember my job title, right?”

“I’m VP of Operations,” he reminds you. “I say when they go home, especially when we’re on a deadline.”

“They report to me, and you’ve had them working long hours,” you fire back.

He shakes his head, crossing his arms tightly across his chest, as he gives you an unimpressed look. “You’re too soft on them. I told Javi you weren’t right for this job. This isn’t academia. We work hard here.” 

You bristle at his words, clenching your fist so tightly that your nails dig into the soft skin of your palm. He has no idea what it took for you to get here, the challenges you faced, or the men like him you had to prove yourself to.

“Go fuck yourself, Scott.” 

You glare up at him, chest rising and falling rapidly. You wait, ready for whatever asshole comment is sure to come but he just stares at you. Then, to your surprise, his gaze drops to your mouth. You freeze, electricity zipping up your spine when you realize you’re close enough for your chest to brush his as you exhale. Looking back, you won't remember the impulse that led you to tilt your head and press your lips to his, only that you did.

The kiss only lasts a second before you pull away, heart pounding in your chest. For a moment, neither of you moves, but then suddenly he surges forward, his large hand grasping the side of your face. His lips crash into yours roughly. A hand at your hip urges you back until you bump your desk but he doesn’t stop until he’s practically dragged you on top of it. He presses in close, eating up what little space remains. You groan, grasping at his shirt as you push your hips into his. 

“Fuck,” he pants, resting his forehead against yours as his warm breath fans across your face. For one terrible second, you think he might stop or say something stupid to ruin the moment but then he’s kissing you again. He forces a hand between your bodies and roughly pulls your underwear aside so his fingers can drag through your folds. You’d be shocked by how fast it’s all happening but any higher thought fizzles out once his thumb circles your clit and his tongue breaks the seam of your lips to taste you. 

You’re breathless when he pulls away, back arching in response to his talented fingers. Through your lashes you see him smirk down at you. “No smart comebacks now?” He questions.

Before you can retort he adds a second finger. You moan, rolling your hips to seek more of him. “Knew you’d be fucking greedy,” he whispers.

He watches you fuck yourself on his hand with a hungry glint in his eyes until your pace slows. He glanced at your face. You rise up on your elbows, brow raised. “Am I going to do all the work here?” 

“Shut up,” he growls, withdrawing his fingers.

A witty comeback is on the tip of your tongue but it dies when Scott brings his fingers to his mouth. He stares down at you while he sucks them clean, his Adam's apple bobbing. Your stomach clenches hard at the sight. 

“That’s better,” he comments, unbuckling his belt. “Nice and quiet.” 

He takes a condom from his wallet and rolls it on his thick length. If there was ever a time to stop, it’s now. You look at Scott, his dark gaze swimming with desire and push the thought away, rising up to kiss him. The blunt head of his cock nudges your entrance and you lift your hips. You relish the way he looks, dark hair curling over his sweaty forehead and his body straining for you. Knowing you’ve done this to him sends a rush of want through you. 

Scott pushes inside slowly, hissing as your wet heat envelopes him until he’s halfway in and then he snaps his hips forward unexpectedly. Your breath leaves your lungs in a rush. He falls forward and the weight of him is electrifying. You’d be embarrassed at the desperate little sounds his mouth swallows up if he didn’t feel so damn good. 

He fucks with an intense kind of precision you’ve seen him bring to his work, reaching deep inside you to hit all the right places. You bury your fingers in his dark hair and pull, eliciting a needy moan from the irritatingly talented man above you. 

“You gonna come for me?” He asks, breathless. 

A desperate little, please, slips past your lips without your permission, spurring him on. He hooks a hand under your knee and forces your leg into your chest as he keeps up his frantic pace. The new angle takes him even deeper and pleasure ripples through your stomach. He feels unbelievably good and you practically sob when he pulls back and rises to his full height, afraid he’s going to stop. But he doesn’t, grasping your hips with both hands and forcing you to meet his thrusts. 

You’re tantalizing close and, without thinking, you reach down to help yourself along but Scott is quick to slap your hand away, replacing it with his own. 

“That’s mine,” he growls, the rough pad of his thumb catching on the sensitive skin. He watches with rapt attention as his cock and fingers work in tandem to drive you over the edge. You come with his name on your lips. 

“Fuck, just like that,” he gasps. 

Before you can recover your breath, he leans down and kisses you, his weight pressing you into the desk as his hips move relentlessly. Then he shoves himself deep inside and stills, groaning. Your ears ring and your body buzzes with the aftershocks of your own orgasm. The two of you stay like that, intertwined and panting until, finally, Scott moves. 

Cool air rushes between your bodies and you stare up at him. You can see him thinking in real time, his clever gaze searching your face as he continues to process what happened. What could either of you possibly say after this? Nothing good you realize. 

“Don’t,” you whisper, finger pressed to his lips. “Don’t ruin it.” 

Scott closes his eyes and swallows hard. Then he's moving, slipping out of you with a grunt. He turns away from you, redressing. The clink of his belt buckle is loud in the quiet office. Pressing your fingers to your swollen lips, you take a moment to let yourself feel everything before pushing it aside and standing on unsteady legs.

You fix your appearance the best you can and busy yourself with shuffling the mess of papers strewn everywhere. It might be cowardly, but you keep your gaze fixed on your desk when you hear the door creak open. You wait, the minutes dragging by until you know it’s safe to look up, only to find Scott still there.

He lingers in the doorway, his gaze fixed on you. 

Then you blink and he’s gone. 

♡

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[drgnmnts]

knuckles bruised (like violets) │ jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!OC

Title: knuckles bruised (like violets)

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Targaryen!OC (Daenys Targaryen, daughter of Viserys I Targaryen and Alicent Hightower)

Summary: There is no war so hateful to the gods as a war between kin, especially for those caught in between, longing only for peace as they're met with fire and blood.

_______________________________________________

Chapter 4 - Belonging

📢A/N: JACE HAS CURLY HAIR. LET'S FORGET THAT WIG EVER EXISTED, OKAY? IMAGINE THIS JACE WITH CURLY HAIR. I WOULD GO TO WAR FOR THOSE CURLS. 📢

Word count: 3.4k

SIX YEARS LATER

“Limbās, Silverwing.” 

Slower. 

The powerful beat of the she-dragon’s wings came to a stop as she let her enormous body glide steadily through the clouds, her iridescent scales glistening like precious jewels in the sun’s embrace. 

As she circled around Bronzegate, right above Storm’s End, Daenys could descry King’s Landing on the other side of the Kingswood. 

Despite Rhaenyra giving her full agency to visit the capital whenever she so desired, the truth was that Daenys had only flown back to see her family three times in the time she had spent living at Dragonstone. 

The first time had been a couple of months after her departure, upon receiving a letter from her mother in which the queen told her she missed her. When she arrived, Alicent had stared at her in confusion, as if she hadn’t expected her daughter to interpret her words as an invitation. 

The second time had been for Aegon and Helaena’s wedding, but she was back at Dragonstone before the bedding ceremony. 

The third time was a year later, when Helaena had given birth to Jahaerys and Jahaera, and it had pained Daenys terribly to say goodbye to her dear niece and nephew. 

After that, she had never returned.

Across the expanse of trees, Vhagar’s silhouette stood out, too big to be kept in the Dragonpit with the others. Daenys had encountered Aemond several times throughout the years, both siblings finding the coast of Tarth their preferred place to rest after a long ride. They had never spoken to each other, perhaps out of fear of not knowing what to say, or perhaps (and this Daenys would never admit out loud) because Aemond had grown up to become quite an intimidating young man, and Daenys wasn’t sure whether he would be up for a conversation or a shared meal. She didn’t really know him anymore, and a big part of that was her fault.

As she ordered Silverwing to head back to Dragonstone, the dragon’s sinuous movements beneath Daenys so familiar and a testament to its formidable strength, Daenys wondered if her brothers ever thought of her. She knew Helaena did, as the sisters often sent letters to each other to keep in touch and share whatever news they may have, but she hadn’t heard from the boys in years, not even from Daeron. 

“Lantā mēre,” she commanded after a few hours in complete silence as Silverwing approached the Dragonmont and, as her rider requested, the dragon descended gently. 

Daenys was sore after such a long ride, though this kind of pain she was happy to endure.

“We imagined you in Essos already,” welcomed her Daemon, covered in ash and dirt as a result of one of his expeditions to the volcanic tunnels searching for eggs.

“I am ten-and-seven, Uncle. How come you still worry about me as if I were a child?” she asked, smiling at him as she let the dragonkeepers tend to Silverwing.

“When did I say I was worried?” he wondered, feigning confusion, as he properly greeted his niece with a side hug. His other arm was occupied with a satchel, where she assumed he had placed Syrax’s eggs.

“How many?” she asked, pointing at the leather bag.

“Three,” he said, clearly overjoyed by the new addition to the Dragonmont collection. “We would have more if you let Silverwing rest for a bit, being able to coil with Vermax would have her producing eggs in no time.”

Daenys let out a small laugh. “You ask too much of me, Uncle,” she replied. “Speaking of Vermax, where is Jace?”

______________________________

After a quick bath and a change of clothes, Daenys followed Daemon's indications about Jace's whereabouts. His High Valyrian lessons always took place in the Great Hall, where he practiced with old texts and the invaluable help of Maester Gerardys.

"Vezhof, Maestur. Iā iāhor naejot ābrot ñuha lentys' tresys isse hāedrys," she said as she walked down the stairs. You may leave, Maester. I wish to instruct my sister's son this morning.

“Certainly, Princess.”

As Maester Gerardys left the room, Jace stood in his place, hands joined at his back, waiting for his aunt to take the maester’s place next to him. Daenys could feel his warm gaze on her, but she didn’t meet his eye; instead, she scanned the page they had been practicing with and continued the lesson where the maester had left it.

“Aegon mazverdagon lēkia rȳ ondoso lentor bē skoros,” she read.

Jace repeated the sentence a few times, and tried his luck at the translation:

“Aegon… built a small wooden fort… atop the hill”.

“Sȳrī jorrāelagon, ñuha dārilaros,” Daenys said. Well done, my prince.  “Dāria voktys belmonda zūgusy issa nāpār lēkia.”

This one took a bit longer. It was a difficult text but she knew Jacaerys was eager to become fluent, which made this kind of practice necessary.

“The city expanded… fast?” he tried. He used to be ashamed of speaking High Valyrian in front of her, too embarrassed of his struggles when it clearly rolled so easily off her tongue, but he enjoyed her lessons way too much to miss them due to his own self-consciousness.

“Rapidly,” she corrected. “Zūgusy issa nāpār lēkia, under his descendants. It’s a tricky one.”

“Not for you, it seems,” he said, not an ounce of bitterness in his tone. 

Daenys beamed at him and shrugged. “I guess growing up with Aemond being as competitive as I am had its perks. It motivated me to become better than him at everything.”

Jace nodded, chuckling at the memory of Daenys as a girl, all those times she would demand a rematch with tears in her eyes everytime she lost at something, tireless. 

“Come on, one more,” she urged. “Ñuha jorrāelagon gevie issa bē sȳndesse.” A small smile tugged at her lips, and Jace grinned to himself as he approached her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

“My betrothed looks… lovely this morning,” he replied, earning himself a pleased hum from Daenys, thus letting him know that he was, in fact, correct.

“Perfect,” Daenys said, placing the palms of her hands on his chest.

Neither of them could remember when their friendship had turned into something more, as the idea of marriage slowly shifted from a burden to something they both awaited with indescribable excitement. 

Perhaps it had been a consequence of the hours they spent flying together on Vermax and Silverwing, or their walks along the coast of Dragonstone, sharing memories and secrets. Perhaps it had been Jace’s efforts to make her feel included and welcomed from the moment she set foot on Dragonstone all those years ago, despite her initial reluctance to get close to him and his family. Or maybe it had been the tenderness she exuded every time she spoke to Joffrey, or how easily she made Luke laugh, or the way Jace’s heartbeat quickened every time she met his gaze.

Jace brushed his nose against hers. “We can go for a walk later,” he offered.

“Or a ride,” she said, and the two of them smiled at her eagerness to be on dragonback again after having spent so long flying over the bay.

“A ride, then,” he agreed.

Daenys’ hands slid up his chest and shoulders until they reached his face, where she gently stroked his cheeks with her thumbs. Too absorbed in gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes, neither of them noticed that someone else had entered the room.

“Is this how you expect to become fluent at High Valyrian?” Princess Rhaenyra asked as she made her way down the stairs. Her tone was of amusement and there was no intention of admonishment in her face, but her presence made the young couple separate immediately.

“Mother,” Jace greeted her bowing his head, partly to salute her, and partly to hide the bright red that now tinted his cheeks.

“My princess,” said Daenys, curtsying accordingly, equally embarrassed.

Rhaenyra walked up to them, her hands softly caressing her pregnant belly, which was now starting to round as she was almost halfway through her pregnancy.

“Maester Gerardys said I would find you here. I should've known you would be much more invested in your lessons with such a beautiful teacher.”

Jace smiled timidly, still unable to look at his mother. Amused, she continued.

“Perhaps you’d like to show me how the instruction is going?” she requested as she took a seat at the table, tired from the pregnancy. 

Daenys quickly returned to the text, ignoring the pink in her cheeks. It took her a moment to find the right page.

“Dāria Āeksio daor lēkia Aegonforto,” she read.

Jace sighed. “Daria…”

“Dāria,” Rhaenyra corrected, watching her son intently.

“Dāria Āeksio daor… The Red Keep changed the Aegonfort.”

“Replaced,” the two women said at the same time, the occurrence making them chuckle. 

Not wanting to make her son suffer any longer, Rhaenyra gestured for Daenys to close the book; there was no need for the lesson to continue. 

“It pleases me that you two have found it in you to enjoy each other’s company so much,” she began, “but you have to be careful. We do not need rumors starting to spread around about the princess’ virtue.”

At the mere mention of his betrothed’s reputation being affected in any way by his lack of care, Jace’s expression changed into a serious one.

“Of course, Mother. I would never allow such a thing.”

“It won’t happen again, Princess. I promise,” added Daenys, fully aware of how terrible it would be if such slander was thrown her way.

Rhaenyra nodded, pleased with their attitude, while she caressed her belly. As she stood, both Jace and Daenys straightened their backs again, showcasing the respect they felt for the princess. Rhaenyra approached them, and placed her motherly hands on each of their cheeks.

“A raven arrived today from Driftmark,” she began, and both Jace and Daenys’ brows furrowed with worry almost simultaneously. “Baela wrote to Daemon to let us know that Vaemond Velaryon is attempting to challenge Luke’s claim to the Driftwood Throne.”

“But Lord Corlys already named Luke his heir, and Father agreed,” Daenys protested.

“Lord Corlys might not survive his injuries. We cannot count on him,” Rhaenyra said simply.

“What about Princess Rhaenys?” wondered Jace.

Rhaenyra sighed. “Let us hope she chooses to support us.”

“So we’re going to King’s Landing?” the young princess further asked.

“On the morrow,” Rhaenyra confirmed, and Daenys’ expression changed despite how much she was trying to hide her emotions. “Luke is upset, as you can imagine,” she added, speaking to Jace. “He needs his brother.”

Jace nodded, understanding, and gave Daenys a look of apology: their ride would need to wait. 

After her son had left the room, Rhaenyra sat down again.

"I know that face," she said to Daenys. 

Ever since welcoming her into her family, Rhaenyra had earned herself the role of mentor and confidante in Daenys’ life. She had taken the time to explain the politics of the realm to her, the importance of legacy, and the strength that Daenys would need to cultivate if she were to become queen consort one day. With time, the pair had found it in them to slowly build a bridge over the chasm that had once separated them.  

Daenys sat across from her, and that perspective made them look like two different versions of the same person.

“How bad is it?” she asked. 

Rhaenyra took a moment to answer as she stroked her belly.

“By putting into question Luke’s legitimacy, he’s also questioning Jace’s and my own claim to the Throne.”

Daenys lowered her gaze, worried. “Why now?” she asked.

“What did your mother say the last time she wrote to you? That Father was getting weaker and weaker by the day, could barely move or speak without overexerting himself,” she said, raising her brows slightly.

“So you think this is their doing? The queen and the Hand’s?” Daenys asked. My mother and my grandsire.

“Not entirely, but they are definitely supporting Vaemond’s claims.”

Daenys buried her face in her hands. She was tired. Exhausted. The fact that after so many years the matter was still being questioned despite King Viserys’ blessing for Luke to inherit the Driftwood Throne was senseless.

“There is something I wanted to talk to you about. Or ask of you, to be precise,” said Rhaenyra after a moment of silence. 

When Daenys nodded, encouraging her to speak, Rhaenyra reached over the table and grabbed her hand.

“I need you to promise me that you will stay strong while we’re at King’s Landing. That you won’t falter when they spill their honey in your ear,” she said. Daenys’ brow furrowed, feeling confused and slightly insulted.

“Have I not proven my loyalty to you time and time again?” she asked.

“Of course,” Rhaenyra replied immediately. “Yes, always. But right now, the Red Keep is a venomous place. I wouldn’t want you to be put in a situation where you have to choose sides.”

“But I have chosen a side,” Daenys said, defensive. “Every single day, by not escaping, I am choosing a side. It is your cause that I believe in, your son the one I want to see sitting on the Driftwood Throne when the time comes.”

Rhaenyra let out a breath. When she spoke again, her eyes were honest.

“You are very important to me, Daenys. Not only as a sister but as an ally. Your support means a lot to this family and I fear that, by exposing you to them, I might be pushing you away from us.”

As she always did when she was stressed or worried, a habit she had unknowingly picked up from her mother, Daenys began nervously picking at her fingers. Rhaenyra noticed and held her hand again, making her stop.

“You took me in six years ago,” she began, “a girl you barely knew, who had been mean to your children, who had... taken part in the narrative that was told about them at court. I didn't make it easy for you at first, and yet you treated me as if you were my— as if I was your daughter. You offered me a seat at your table, a chair next to you by the hearth, a place in your council. Do you really think me so ungrateful?”

Rhaenyra lowered her gaze, ashamed for having even considered the possibility of betrayal, but also pleased with Daenys' contained outrage: it meant she truly cared.

“No. No, of course not.”

The tension between them eased as they shared a moment of silent solidarity, but the weight of the impending trip to King’s Landing still loomed over them.

Finally, Rhaenyra spoke again, her voice steady. “You should get some rest. There’s much to be done before we leave.”

_____________________

That night, as she sat at her desk with only the hearth and a single candle illuminating her chamber, Daenys decided to write to Helaena.

My dearest Helaena,

It has saddened me deeply to learn that Vaemond Velaryon means to call into question Lucerys’ legitimacy. I might err on the side of innocence, but I had hoped this matter was already settled. Perhaps this instance will finally put an end to such nonsense. 

Despite this, I look forward to seeing you again, and your children. They must be so grown now… I will make sure to bring presents for them so they can remember their aunt. 

We will arrive at King’s Landing within the week, as we must sail since  Rhaenyra and Daemon want Father to meet little Aegon and little Viserys.

I do hope we can have a peaceful time together.

Your sister, who loves you,

Daenys

As she rolled the piece of parchment, the wax for the three-headed dragon seal already melted and ready to use, Ser Lorent knocked on her door.

“Forgive me, Princess. Prince Jacaerys requests a word,” he announced. 

“Of course. Send him in.” It wasn’t uncommon for Jace to visit Daenys in her quarters, and Rhaenyra allowed it, so long as the door remained open.

Unlike Daenys, who was already clad in her sleeping clothes, a beautiful crimson robe covering her nightgown, Jace was still wearing his normal clothes, save for the cape. Once he was inside, she stood.

“How’s Luke?” she asked.

Jace made a face, shrugging. “Terrified, honestly. You know how he feels about this matter,” he explained.

Daenys hummed, cutting the distance between them. As soon as she was in front of him, Jace wrapped her in his arms.

After a few seconds of comfortable silence, drowning in each other’s familiar scents, with Jace’s face buried in her neck and her hands in his curls, Daenys spoke. “I don’t want to go,” she confessed, and she sounded just like she had all those years before, except this time it was the opposite situation. She had been holding her feelings in all day but now, in Jace’s arms, she felt safe enough to let them out.

“I know,” he murmured back. “I’m not too excited about it either.”

When Daenys spoke again, she was crying.

“Am I horrible?”

As soon as he heard her broken voice Jace broke the embrace, only to gently grab her face as his brow furrowed in worry.

“No! Of course not, why do you think that?”

He caught a tear with his thumb as it slid down her cheek.

“I don’t know, I— I haven’t seen them in years, and when the opportunity arises I would rather just not go. And I’m worried about Luke, and I don’t want your mother to get upset, and—.”

“Shh…” Jace soothed her gently, noticing the way her anxiety was starting to escalate. He put his forehead against hers, and Daenys closed her eyes. Outside, Ser Lorent peeked discreetly, just to check in on them. “Listen to me. Whatever Vaemond Velaryon has to say, it will be to no avail. My mother will defend Luke and put an end to all of this once and for all. And… I know it is difficult for you to see everybody again, but you will not be alone this time, hm? I will be with you. We will all be with you.”

Daenys had spent her entire life trying to feel like she belonged. Somewhere. Anywhere. Neither from here, nor from there. Always adjusting, fitting in, packing up, looking for a spot.

For many years, the only moment she was able to achieve that feeling was when riding Silverwing, hence her passion for spending her days on dragonback. Whenever she rode her dragon, she felt like a part of her that was never good enough for anyone was restored: bad daughter, bad sister, bad princess, good dragonrider. And so, she had decided that her place in the world was on her dragon’s back.

Jace had changed her mind.

He wasn’t just kind, or gentle, or good. He knew her; really knew her. And every new part of her she showed him, no matter how ugly, or embarrassing, or despicable, he embraced it. Loved it. 

Daenys belonged on her dragon’s back, but she also belonged in Jace’s arms.

I love you, she thought.

“You are too good,” she said instead, still sniffling but much calmer.

Jace smiled before softly kissing her forehead. “And you worry too much. It isn’t so bad, actually. I think I’ll find enjoyment in showing off my betrothed around the court.”

This made Daenys smile, a beautiful shade of pink bringing her cheeks to life. “I’m sure all the girls will bat their eyelashes at you as soon as they see you,” she said. “And the women.”

Jace chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Let them. They can bat their eyelashes all they want. Besides, they’ll be too busy being envious of how beautiful you are.”

Daenys shook her head, but her beaming smile and the way she couldn’t hold Jace’s gaze for a second showed how much she loved his flattery. 

She kissed his cheek, and Ser Lorent cleared his throat outside.

Jace sighed.

“I must go. I’ll come for you in the morning.”

“Sleep well,” she said as he softly kissed her hand.

Jace smiled at her once more before finally walking out the door, leaving her alone again in her chamber.

As she settled into bed, trying to find sleep quickly, she didn’t think of Vaemond Velaryon, her mother’s frown, or the politics of the realm. Instead, the only thing on her mind was kind brown eyes and the smell of leather and salt water.

_______________________________________________

If you liked this, let me know in any way! 💕

Also, thank you so much for all your kind comments! If I'm missing someone who wants to be added to the tag list, let me know!

Series Taglist: @void21, @burningwitchobject, @hellish-idiot, @inf4ntdeath, @klutzylaena, @swimmjacket , @helo1281917 , @cat-winter

[alchemistc]

I've already written this a million times between fic I've posted, tag rants, and my notes app, but now I'm thinking again about Buck and Tommy first meeting and:

Howie pulls away from the hug a few seconds too soon for Tommy's liking. It's been a long time since he's seen him in person, since before the car crash, before the stabbing, before all the fucked up shit that's happened to the 118 since he left, and he was maybe hoping for - more.

The LAFD are a bunch of fucking gossips and he's heard his fair share about them all, names passed vaguely around in group chats and ladder bars, stories blown even more out of proportion than all the actual miraculous survival stories. The two guys Howie gestures at with thumbs over his shoulders both look familiar, and he's already trying to place their stories before Howie introduces them. Brown hair-brown eyes-killer jawline gives him a twisted grin as Howie introduces him as Eddie, and he reaches across to shake Tommy's hand, firm and even. Tommy can tell before the handshake is over that he'd served.

That's Diaz. He'd texted Howie the night the kid had been buried fucking alive and somehow lived to tell the tale. He can't quite pull the memory, but Tommy's pretty sure he'd been the one at the 118 who'd been targeted by that crazy sniper, too.

The other one, bright eyed and staring around like a kid in a candy shop, looking like he might vibrate right out of his skin - shocks of bronze in his hair from the overhead lights and eyes cast silver-blue in the twilight, jolts when Howie reaches back and up to smack at his chest, standing at attention and catching Tommy's eye as Howie introduces him as Buck.

Jesus fucking Christ

Tommy's gonna die tonight.

Between Howie's sporadic communication and all the gossip, Tommy knows about Buck. Kid's a magnet for a shit storm. And Tommy's about to fly them straight into one.

"Uh, h-hi," he says, cheeks rounding as he leans in with a devastating smile, hand extended.

Tommy feels like he's been hit by a fucking truck.

"You, uh - call me Evan," he says, and all the air sort of whooshes out of Tommy's lungs at once as he shakes Tommy's extended hand.

Oh.

This is a bad idea. Capital B capital I bad. Tommy can't tell which one of them is extending the handshake too long, but he's actually kind of hoping Howie will fucking say something about it, make Buck-- Evan -- let go.

"He's gonna need that hand back, Evan," Howie says, an inflection on the name that Tommy won't understand for a good few months.

He ducks his head bashfully, shakes up, down, one more time, before he lets go, and Tommy can feel his own gaze chasing the silver-blue sparks of his irises as they dip out of view. Shit. Fuck.

This is fine. Tommy's worked with plenty of attractive guys. He's worked with plenty of guys he's felt a spark with, right out the gate. He's a fucking professional. He's flown out of enemy gunfire, into firestorms fed by 80 mile-per-hour winds. This is fine.

From what he remembers of the early days at Harbor, when he'd kept up better with Howie, this Buck guy isn't even in the wheelhouse of men who'd be interested, anyway. So. That's that.

"Nice to meet you, Evan," Tommy says, and doesn't miss the pursed lips and raised brows shared between Diaz and Howie when Evan's face lights up like a Roman candle, head tipping back up at an angle and his smile wide wide wide -- too wide for the suicide mission they're about to undertake.

Christ.

"You too, Tommy," Evan says, and Tommy sticks his hands in the pockets of his flight suit to keep from doing something insane like press his fingertips into the pink-swatched skin over his brow that might be a birthmark.

[ytmanzwhore]

Chase It - 2

read chapter one here

summary: nellie meets the so called tornado wrangler

warnings: none

AN: tagging my one friend who asked to be notified :) also if these seem split up weird it's because they're written for wattpad so some chapters may seem like abrupt endings. lemme know your thoughts! @stillhere197

Javi and Kate had somehow gotten the biggest burst of luck Nellie had seen in her nursing career, somehow convincing Nellie's supervisor to give her three shifts off after her next shift, so she could come with them on their chase. Nellie grumbled under her breath for a bit in the back of the car as they drove to meet up with the rest of Javi's team. 

"This is fancy as hell," Nellie said under her breath as she looked at the car she was sitting in, and all the new gear. "Javi how are you getting all this capital?"

"Storm Par has investors,"  he said simply as the three of them pulled up to a familiar sight Nellie had grown up on. A old school truck stop with small groups of people preparing to go chase some storms. As Javi pulled to a stop, Nellie's chest got a little tight as she felt for the first time what she was actually doing today. She was chasing for the first time in five years. 

The slam of doors knocked her from her stupor, and she jumped out of the car and followed Kate and Javi to a group of men. "Alright team," Javi gathered the group. "You guys have all heard me talk about Kate, and Nellie. The two of them have some of the best instincts I know, they're the best. And yall won't miss working with a better team. We've got PhDs from NASA, FEMA, NWS."

"And no women," Nellie said with a head tilt as Javi stumbled over his sentence.

"Well, my partner here went to MIT, not Muskogee State," Javi clapped the tall brunette on the shoulder. "But he makes up for it with his beautiful personality." Scott deapanned them with a smile.

"Likely," Nellie murmured as she turned her gaze away from the men and towards the skies. Javi and Scott's next words were cut off by a red truck coming screeching in the lot with the windows down and the music blaring. The amateurs in the lot began to frenzy as the trucks passed, and Nellie raised a brow as a brunette man leaned out of the window with a camera. 

"Are they filming?" Nellie asked in surprise as the man taunted Scott and the PhD's with a grin as he drove by. 

"Who are they?" Kate asked.

"Chasers out of Arkansas," Javi informed them with a frown. 

"Hillbillies with a youtube channel," Scott said. And with that, the group watched as the truck was thrown into park and a crowd formed as a big Stetson came through the open door and a tall blonde stood on the running boards.

"How you feeling Ty?" the camera man turned the lens to the blonde. 

"Feeling good Boone," the man smirked cockily. "And if you feel it?"

"Chase it!" the crowd yelled back.

"I said, if you feel it?"

"Chase it!" Nellie burst into laughter as she watched the spectacle in front of her.

"That's Tyler Owens," Javi told the girls as Nellie kept giggling, making eye contact with the blonde man, Tyler. Feeling his stare even through his dark sunglasses as he tipped his hat. She tipped her imaginary Stetson right back at him as Javi carried on. "Calls himself a Tornado Wrangler."

"A tornado what?" Nellie questioned as she watched as their van was opened and merch began to flow. "This is hysterical."

Javi pulled up a tablet, pulling some data for Kate to look at. Nellie let the blonde take the data, while she began walking to the open area next to the stop. Nellie heard Javi shoo off the crowd while she began to look at the sky. Looking East then West, taking a deep breath and getting that tingly feeling she hadn't let herself give into in five years. 

She leaned down to the grass, grabbing a dandelion for her and Kate, letting the petals fall as they looked at the sky. 

"You know I used to do that," Tyler said as he approached the two newcomers, talking to both of them but unable to keep his eyes off the petite red head who he was captivated by. "Compare the wind direction to cloud movement. Get a feel for the shear. Sometimes the old ways are better than the new."

Tyler watched both of them, carrying on when he didn't get a response. "Where yall in from?"

"New York," Kate said crisply, and Nellie chose not to answer. 

"You're a long way from home City Girls," Tyler smirked, watching Nellie in confusion as she snickered. "So yall working with Storm Par?"

"Tyler," they were interruppted by a British man approaching them. "Do we know which storm we're chasing yet?"

"Well, why don't we ask these two-" Tyler paused, fishing for their names. 

"Nellie," the red head smiled kindly as she reached out to shake the Brit's hand. "This is Kate. We're your city girls."

"Hi Nellie," Tyler smirked. "Kate. I'm Tyler."

"Oh we couldn't miss that, with the t shirts, it's a little hard," Nellie smiled sweetly as Kate grinned. 

"I'm Ben, a reporter," the Brit stuck his hand out to Kate. "I'm writing a piece on american storm chasing and Tyler's letting me ride along with him."

"Ben just had to promise to only write good things about me," Tyler grinned. 

"Good luck with that," Kate said and turned around.

"Might have to dig deep Ben," Nellie giggled as she turned on the heel of her boot.

"Hold on," Tyler called out. "You didn't say where we're going. If we go West we double our chances. East? High risk, high reward."

"Go for the reward," Kate advised as Nellie shook her head and kept walking. "Wouldn't want Ben to think you're boring."

"Boring's not usually a problem for me," Tyler said as Kate followed Nellie.

"But humility apparently is!" Nellie called over her shoulder, offering Tyler and Ben a sweet smile and a finger wave as she approached Javi and Scott.

"We're going West," Nellie said to the boys, Kate catching up with her. 

"Cell to the East has better numbers," Scott protested.

"Doesn't feel right," Kate shook her head. 

"Yeah, cap's too strong," Nellie agreed. "Won't ever break." Scott sighed as Javi rallied the troops and everyone got back in the trucks. 

[princessbrunette]

when did you know you loved me? pt.3/4 ♡

deer!reader had never been more comfortable with anyone in her life. she enjoyed that she got to be herself around him — a little weird, sometimes quiet, simply enjoying eachothers company until she could think of something to say.

“it feels oddly good. like the contrast of the cold shells on my hot back? it’s therapeutic.” pope observes as you sit cross legged on the beach beside him, placing the collection of shells you’d gathered along his bare back, enjoying the peace it brought you.

“okay new business venture, i offer my services of shell-therapy where i place shells on peoples backs along the beach and they pay me lots of money.” you smile, watching your boyfriend shake his head from where his temple rests on his stacked hands.

“oh hell no, this is a special service for me only. far too intimate. also as much as i enjoy this, i wouldn’t pay for it. bad business move.” pope banters in response and you laugh openly. he always entertained your silliness, or your goofy ideas that logistically made his head hurt just a little. to this, you felt a wave of affection.

“i love you.” you grin, shaking your head. it’s the thousandth time you’ve said it, but the abruptness of it compared to the conversation makes pope lift his head, craning it around to look at you with a confused yet adoring smile.

“oh— well, i love you. a lot.” he reciprocates and you lean forward, kissing his sweaty temple.

“can i ask you something a little weird? there’s a segment missing in my ‘us’ section of my journal and i wanna fill it out.”

“ask away.” he croons as he settles back down in the position he lay in before.

“when did you know you loved me? was there a moment? or was it a slow gradual thing that just crept up on you?”

there’s a silence for a moment as pope considers, before he slowly rolls over — tipping all the shells off his back back onto the sand and laying on his back once more, breathing out a slow breath of consideration. the sad “hey” that you were about to mewl at him destroying your artwork on his back died on your tongue, more interested in what he had to say.

“you know… there’s part of me that wants to say the first moment i saw you i was in love with you. i mean, shit — it absolutely felt that way.” he splutters with a quiet laugh.

“really?” you return his tone, chuckling as you gather your shells once more, not wishing to lose them.

“i mean yeah. when i saw you struggling to walk all those dogs along the beach after the storm i remember thinking ‘okay, that is definitely the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen’” he relays, soft smile remaining as he closes his eyes once more, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face.

“aw…” you hum, pulling your knees to your chest and continuing to listen.

“and then of course i saw you again working at the library, and i knew i definitely had to have you, even though i kinda felt like a creep thinking that… because you barely knew me.” he cringes and you giggle, starting to place shells on his toned stomach instead.

“but i dunno… i think… i think i knew for sure that i loved you, like hard core— capital L loved you… was the first time you came to meet my folks. you came to dinner and you wore that pretty dress with the flowers on it? the one i love? and i could see the way my pops just thought you were everything, and my mom clearly adored you… and i realised i didn’t just love you… i wanted a life with you. like, the whole shebang… marriage, babies one day… all of it. you’re like… my forever. ugh, that was total cringe. but it’s true.”

he peeks an eye open, to see if you’d totally caught the ick for his sappy story, but was happy to see you grinning ear to ear. you launch forward, pressing a kiss to his mouth. it’s a little sandy and salty, but it’s pope — so you don’t care.

“i want you forever and ever.”

“yeah? good. i want that too.”

[themotherofblood]

chapter 6 | river of fire | d.t x reader x r.t | there is much to say

series masterlist | masterlist | previous chapter

a/n: so finally we pick up from where we left off, with some major changes, while I will always love the first original chapter of the brothel scene, i needed to do my girlie some justice

warnings: daemon being kinda gross.

synopsis: daemon returns to the red keep, to find a much grown version of his young cousin and his niece.

The court had finally come to weigh upon Viserys’s shoulders, three parchments, all borne by white ravens. One from the Stepstones, one from Storm’s End and the other from the Old Palace. The missed warmth and wrath were all returning at once.

One rebel posed as his brother, one nuisance his daughter and the other, his wounded pride— his ward.

“Preparations have been made your grace, at the cost to the crown, a feast seems appropriate given the occasion. The Targaryen seat brimming full again.” Lord Beesbury coughed out his accounting.

“In lieu, your grace. I don’t find a feast appropriate upon the way all three of them have disobeyed your wishes.” Otto Hightower interjected, “perhaps the costs could be levied elsewhere.”

“Nonsense! My family is together after many moons, we should celebrate, find a reason to indulge in cups,” Viserys chuckled, looking at Lord Strong for his support.

It was the truth, Daemon begun a war without the direct command of his King, aiding Lord Corlys in his excertions upon the Stepstones. Whereas Rhaenyra, dismissed an entire court of suitors, ending a very heftily paid for tour to an end; three moons and early— then there was you. Fleeing the Capital without the King’s consent, boarding a ship to return to your brother, the cause? Knew no one but one, Alicent and she too shielded the truth of the matter.

And thus the word spread, the dragons had come to roam the streets of King’s Landing again.

Rhaenyra was the first to return, anxiously awaiting the brunt of her father’s disappointment.

You must marry, it is your duty. You must bear heirs, it is your duty.

She had grown tired of what her possible duties would be when she herself couldn’t implement one condition at the Small Council table, a poser amongst the one’s with true power. She felt left out, unseen— and her father believed that marriage would fix her unmoving temper, like a man in her vicinity would make her womanly thinking turn to putty.

Not one, not one of those morons would come near to be a possible husband for her, but more so than that, she wished that her lover would understand so. That for her, you would forever be the true bearer of her unencumbered devotions, her unconditional love. Yet the weight of responsibility had weakened your shoulders too, for you heard the same but one less.

You must marry, you must bear children.

And thus the fight, a terrible arguement between two hearts that always beat as one.

“I would never be your wife! Ever.”

There had been copious tears and then a conspicuous letter, then followed silence and Rhaenyra’s tour.

Her heart wasn’t in this, she cared not if she ever loved her husband, she didn’t want one in the first place. Even beyond Viserys’s advise, a man? A man couldn’t be worth her happiness.

She is a dragon rider, the Heir to the Iron Throne. A measly being possessing a cock wouldn’t cut it.

Her ship’s sails had caught the wind, she stood on the deck, twiddling her thumbs as she laments of returning to a cold half of her apartments. Her ladies in waiting and plenty other friends to keep her company and yet she couldn’t muster an apology to make you return home. More than a year apart, without a word— the agony should have dwindled but it lingered, prickling around her heart every night as she slept alone.

Nyra held hope that she would catch a glimpse of your face once more, run her hands through your wild hair, feel the burning chill of your fingertips and the softness of your full lips. If the world around her was just quiet enough, she could feel it, a ghostly touch pressed to her lips— only to break her heart once more as she opened her eyes.

“Princess?” Criston Cole tore her attention from her wide eyed face staring down at the Blackwater.

“We should make landfall within the hour.”

She hums following with a nod, her lips part with hesitance.

“How do you think he will take it?” She seeks perspective, perhaps to find a lighter response of possibilities than the terrible ones that stirred in her head.

“Do you speak of how curtly you’ve rejected every suitor put before you or how you have abruptly ended the tour with three months remaining.”

Rhaenyra defensively blinks away, understanding the point Cole made but partly from the anxiety of it all, willing Syrax to fly to her and flitter her away to the Summer Isles or far up the mountains in the Vale.

She returned to the storm in her head, hearing the waves and the wind jostle by her ears, the smell of salt and fish in the air and chirping, wild chirping.

Her head bolted to the skies, a noise she hadn’t heard for years.

“Take cover!” Cristin Cole screamed, taking his princess down with him.

However Rhaenyra’s eyes were fixated upon the red creature that flew dangerously close to her boat.

Caraxes… Uncle Daemon.

The smell of this bustled city once again graced Daemon’s nostrils, the cheap mead of the people and the golden painted whores of his cherished brothels all celebrated the return of their beloved Prince.

Armour clad and crowned with his haughtiness adorned in his hip, he swaggered in the Throne Room, the familiar scent of pompous perfumed cunts made him sick and yet, the smirk of victory did not leave his face as he eyed down his brother.

Gods he looks sickly, gloved hands and his body weight leaning upon Blackfyre, a sword once meant to wield the firey might of House Targaryen was now diminished to be an old man’s cane. What had happened to him. They are but four years apart in age, and while one brother stood tall in posture and tore down enemies by the hundreds. The other a King, dressed in fineries to shield the dismantling resolution of his health— he reeked of illness.

He stops in front of his brother’s Kingsgaurd, arm outstretched with Craghis Drahar’s axe at the hilt of his palm, pointing it straight at Viserys’s face. A fine present that he drops by the King’s feet.

“Add it to the chair,” he blankly says before retreating, clutching onto the pommel of Dark Sister.

He could feel it, the plenty of gazes fixated upon the crown of bones and rubies placed on his head, there could only be one king.

While Daemon adored the amusing chaos he brought to court, the unpredictability— they all saw him a monster, he knew so. Defiant, vulgar and a rake through and through. He wouldn’t disrespect his brother, not in open court and not without reason.

Daemon knelt, head bowed as he presented his earned crown to his brother.

“There is only one true King, your grace.”

Viserys looked to Otto Hightower, the cunt, eyeing away at Viserys to reject Daemon’s honour— once more denying Daemon’s adoration for his brother to be a malformation of his envy or ambitions.

Viserys descended the steps, still eyeing his younger brother with contempt, or mayhaps doubt.

“Rise.” He ordered, patting Daemon’s shoulder.

Both of them stiff yet brothers once again untied, Daemon bowed his head, resting on Viserys shoulder as they embraced one another.

Daemon relished the embrace as the court around him erupted in an applause, he heard a distinct voice— whose eyes he had witnessed preening at him as he walked into the Throne Room.

rūs— Rhaenyra.

Daemon turns to her, leading himself out with Viserys as the court begins to disband. Viserys however shoots scorned look towards his daughter, a look Daemon frowned over, in Viserys’s eyes Rhaenyra could do no wrong. His curiosity caught a waft of tension and he wondered. What could his brother’s heir have concocted this time to truly face the wrath of Viserys’s rare occurrence of anger.

It seemed that his worries about him not being welcomed home had been for nothing, Viserys had already a feast awaiting for his brother in the Godswood. Wines and musicians, foods of his liking and women of his taste already lined the halls.

“No no, I will not hear it. You were always mother’s favourite!” Viserys chuckled as he reminisced stories of their shared youth with his young wife in presence.

A gauche scene really, and yet Daemon eyes seemed to have caught another serene sight entirely.

The head of silky silver locks, developing curves accentuated by the low hemmed cream gown and eyes that much looked like his, Rhaenyra, much had truly changed, and perhaps a salacious opportunity.

He wandered over to her, avoiding one droll conversation after the other.

“What have you done?” Daemon nudged her shoulder.

“Rejected every suitor in all of Westeros.” She hummed back, licking the sweetness of the lemon cakes off her fingertips.

“Well done!” He chuckled.

She looked to him, rolling her eyes, “well you have return, the prize of my father’s eyes.”

Daemon chuckled once more, shaking his head. His eyes finding a much familiar necklace adorning her neck, and just so— much had changed but nothing at all.

“You’ve changed.”

“As have you Princess.” Daemon looked around as the crowd in the Godswood dwindled.

“You seem calmer, more content perhaps.”

“You seem besides it.” Daemon countered.

“Well it seems my station provided me with ample— discrepancies.” She scoffs.

He sat there, in an odd sense of familiarity. Once again loved, not in the thrall-ish way he often seems to force it out of the common folk, but truly wanted. In the presence of his family, his only pride and at times joy.

Though one figure he registered had been missing all this while, a little dragon in viper’s clothing. The wild mess of dark curls and hesitant eyes— he’d have thought he’d see you first, and yet you were no where to be seen.

The air pulled against the loose wisps of your done up hair, you leaned against the barricaded balcony of your cabin, feeling the waves sway beneath as your ship sailed into the Blackwster Bay. The muddled dark colour of the ocean taking over the serene blue of The Sunset Sea, the murky waters leading it ugly way to once a place you dearly wanted to return to but were afraid too.

On the horizon you could see Rhaenys Hill, the gates of the city and the Bell Tower. Calling to you as you thought of all the possible earfuls of lectures Viserys was about to grace you with.

“How could you take off with my leave?”

Much had changed since you had left, both in reality and within yourself, you looked more a woman than a child, you had flowered. While showing to court in the robes you had on now would be just a little inappropriate. The Martell that you once pushed away, now towered with you with a spear in hand. Such was the Gods choosing you wondered, while your brother Qoren was the perfect portrait of Martell seed, leaving but just his olive skin a testament to your father. His brownish curls and striking purple eyes called to his Targaryen heritage even as he sat on the Martell seat to rule its lands.

You on the other hand, had paler skin than most of the Dornish kin, wide and expressive hazel eyes and ever since you flowered. Thicker streaks of silver that shone bright within the ample strands of your wild brown hair. A small token of your Valyrian heritage, of your mother Daenerys and her eyes. If one looked closely, a ring of lilac crowned the brown of your pupils.

Just this time as you returned, perhaps born anew to your role in the Targaryen dynasty. You were no longer timid, your tongue as sharp as the shot you could take with your bow and arrow and a mind far wise to irk the pompous men at court. Returning home did you good, as your people would call it. All though you were sure Septa Marlow would do naught but sneer at how mismanaged a young princess could become.

Fuck that.

Even as your ship anchored to a halt, with boats circling to receive you and your party. You couldn’t take your eyes off of the Red Keep. Would it have changed in the past year and half, would Viserys be healthier. You wanted to know this instant and yet no answers were brought to you.

Your old jeweled palaquin sat waiting for you, with four Targaryen guards at each pole hilt, you hiked your soft pink skirts to prevent any dirt staining the delicate fabric as you crouched to enter the vessel.

The city still smelled the same, perhaps worse— but it was home, your childhood. The swaying of the palaquin pulled you further into your thoughts, a sick anxiety twisted at your insides as you readjusted your dupatta.

There was barely a procession levied to your name as you stepped out to the courtyard, you heard Oberya scoff behind you; her arched brows scrunched to portray her dismay to the empty courtyard. You were a Princess after all, a name deserved the gathering of at least the Small Council if not the King himself.

“yahain vapis nahi ana chahiye tha rajkumari.” Oberya shook her head. We shouldn’t have returned Princess.

You sighed, hiking your skirts once more to walk behind the guards escorting you— no doubt to the Throne Room where you were certain you would hear an earful from the King himself or perhaps a monotone warning from Otto Hightower. A chill ran down your spine, imagining the steel purple eyes glaring down at you with the weight of his disappointments.

You stood by the door, reminding yourself to breathe, nice large huffs of breaths to fill your lungs and ease the sinking pit in your belly. You nod your head, letting your party and Oberya disperse to their own duties.

Your sweaty palm pushes against the massive heavy metal doors, the sound of creaking so loud against silent hallways it made your ears ring just a bit. The sight within was something you didn’t expect at all.

Empty, not a soul.

The gallery, the Throne and bleachers. Not a person here to watch you catch an earful from the King.

No one at all but one maid crouched by the statue of Jaehereys, scrubbing away with a sudded cloth.

“Where is everyone?”

She looked up, confused for a moment and then meekly replied.

“The Godswood, milady.”

You hummed, turning to the Throne once more before heading to the west doors.

You thought of all the reason’s as to why the entire court would have gathered in the Goswood, you wondered if Alicent was with child again. It couldn’t be though, when you left she had just announced the quickening of Haelena, it was too soon for her to be with child again.

Perhaps a marriage? Rhaenyra?

You prayed not, you had just returned. You didn’t think yourself capable to feel the burn of jealousy but you did, you imagined whatever lord hoped to wed her and then you imagined something untoward happening to him.

You stopped by the wooden doors, you could hear the bustle of the people in the gardens, the smell of meats and perfumes tickled at your nose.

The guards stood by the door appeared confused by the sight of you, your dressing extravagant enough for you to be a noble but they couldn’t quite place which one. You looked between the both of them as the hunched closer, whispering amongst themselves to place your identity.

“Princess Rhaenys?” One whispered.

“Does she look old to you?”

“It is the Princess of Dorne, now if you may.”

You flinched at the abrupt voice behind you, you turned to find Lord Strong looking down at you.

“Princess.” He greeted “We were not expecting you until tomorrow.”

“The winds were in our favour, I’m afraid.” You explained, smiling at the gentle favour of his hand.

The wooden doors opened as you were greeted to the blossoms of the gardens, many of which now thrived and grew from your efforts over the years.

Then it dawns the reason as to why the court had gathered, two heads of very prominent silver hair stood in the crowd.

You were frozen looking at them and everyone else was frozen looking at you.

In the surprise of it all, Alicent approached you first.

You in all regality, bowed on her approach. “My Queen.”

“Y/N!” She gushed, patting your shoulder as a formality when you’d rather embrace her. The warmth of her palm easing your nerves just a bit. You were home for now.

Daemon froze solid to the ground for a moment, a gentle tilt to his head as he registered who stood a couple feet from him. There were many stale bets he would have placed in his lifetime but he saw this coming from so far away.

Even as a little boy learning to spar over the summer and watching his cousin Rhaenys grow wisps of Targaryen silver with the black of her Baratheon head.

When he looked down at his niece, she shared the confusion he had— her head too finding answers to whatever this creature stood in front of them was.

The truth was in the blood, the magic that people sing about stood in person.

By the gods

The blue gowns changed for a soft summery pink, and the cut of that neckline— torture. So much to see but nothing at all.

You turned their way, eyes fixated on Rhaenyra for a moment and then around her before you turned to greet the rest of the Small Council members.

There was commandment, a tantalizing graze to how the shimmery fabric moved as you did.

It wouldn’t be appropriate, Rhaenyra knew it but her impatience grew as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

A year and a half— too long, too fucking long.

She was waiting to hear every footstep coming her way, from the jangles of your payal. The sway of your skirts coming to a stop a foot away from her and Daemon.

“My Princess,” you acknowledged “My Prince.”

There stood a moment of awkward silence between you and Rhaenyra until you turned to Daemon.

“I must congratulate you for your valiant victory in the Stepstone, cousin. One can only hope the poets sing about it till the end of time.” You smile at him.

That’s when he sees them, twinkling against the soft glow of the sun, the purple hiding behind the brown of your eyes. He never could place it, even as he fucked false silver haired whores in brothels, the image of Targaryen seed trampling the viper blood in your veins gave him so much joy.

Rhaenyra still remains silent, pulling the strings in her head to conjure up words.

In the Common Tongue, in Valyrian— just speak please!

Viserys however interjects, Alicent following behind him “What joy, my family; whole again!” He smiles with his teeth barred.

The smile persists cheek to cheek as he looks at Alicent, then to his brother and then you. Though as her turns to Rhaenyra, his eyes fall to disappointment. Reminding Rhaenyra yet again of how much trouble she was in.

Alicent with much grace however, shifted the conversation.

“Perhaps Prince Daemon would like a tour to the tapestries gifted to you by Novos and Qohor?” an innocent suggestion.

Viserys’s face scrunches for a moment as he slaps his hand around Daemon’s shoulder.

“Tell me, would you like to see the tapestries?” He breaks in to an ugly cackle.

Daemon, though oftentimes expected to be the one devoid any manner contains himself for the sake of his young sister by law. He hated her father, not her.

“Well I, would love to see them.” Rhaenyra sheepishly chimes in.

“Well then you should not deprive yourself, daughter.”

The curt sting could be felt from a mile away as she hangs her head in defeat.

“I would love to see them, care to escort me cousin?” You turn to Rhaenyra, smiling at her with an arm extended.

The two of departed from the court, rigidly walking hand in hand to the galleries. She couldn’t say anything out fear that you were still angry at her and her uneasiness amused you.

When the doors to the Grand Gallery finally closed she turned on her heel hastily.

“Forgive me, everything I said. I take it back.”

You looked up at her, this time tilting your head to the side, eyes purposefully stern. You held her hand and began pulling her to the closest wall and pushing her against it.

“I’m sorry.” She repeats.

“Shush.”

You pressed your lips against hers, taking her aback as you grab at the cotton fabric around her waist as you pulled her closer.

She hums, relishing the taste of your lips before finding her footing and turning you around— pressed up against the very lovely tapestry sent by Essosi envoys.

Only painted eyes in witness as you took your liberties with your lover.

“A dozen chambers,” a sing song voice tore the two of you out of your trance.

A deep pit of fear flutters in your belly as you pull yourself away from Rhaenyra.

“Haven’t I taught you better?”

Daemon stood at the door with his palm questioningly pointed at the two of you. His mind found a new source of amusement and by the gods he was going to enjoy toying this time.

THE NEXT CHAPTER IS SMUTTTTTTT. Lemme know if you wanna be on the taglist.

Comments and reblogs are appreciated!!

[misguidedasgardian]

The Dragon's Mistress (10)

10. Mistress

MASTERLIST

Summary: Every actions has its reasons, and its consequences 

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen!Reader, Aemond Targaryen x Floris Baratheon

Warnings: cursing, mentions of war, mentions of death, humiliation, use of the word bastard and traitor, incest, technically cheating, groping, nakedness, might miss some warnings

+18, MINORS DNI

Wordcount:  2.5 k

Notes: Yes, I did feel pressured to post this sooner, that is why is shorter… :( and no, I did not like what I’ve been feeling the last hours…

Lord Borros Baratheon had his niece

That is what occupied Aemond’s mind as he saw you abandoning the throne room with tears in your eyes and whimpers in your mouth

That uncultured swine had his niece Jahaera

He “rescued her” when Rhaenyra had taken the capital and Alicent send her and Maelor away to Old Town, the children never got to the city, but they were stopped along the way, and eventually some baratheon soldiers rescue them from a mob, Maelor didn’t make it, but Jahaera did. And Borros he let it clear that he was not going to return her to her family in King’s Landing if he didn’t marry his daughter

He told himself that it didn’t matter if he did, with you, he already had you, tainted you, fucked you, put his seed on you, you were probably with his child in your belly, but he, as king, could legitimize all the children you were going to have, and Floris? he could bed her and gave her moon tea in the morning after without her even releasing it

You were going to be the mother of the future King of the seven Kingdoms, he had no doubt in his mind about it, and once he had his darling niece in his arms again, he was going to kill Borros and his entire line for even daring to threaten them.

He couldn’t chase after you right now, this was his first appearance as clear future King of the Seven Kingdoms, so he couldn’t just run like a fifteen year old behind his love. 

So he sucked it up, grabbed the bony hand of Floris Baratheon, and presented her to the entire court in the middle of applause and cheers. 

She was not an ugly woman, she had her charm, she was the youngest of Borros’ daughters, the same age as him, she had beautiful dark brown locks, and hazelnut colored eyes shaped like almonds. She was the one he had chosen that night three years ago in Storm’s End, the one he never got to marry, well, not until today.

His body was burning with the need to search for you, but sadly he couldn’t, not yet, and he also wante to smack the smile out of Borros’ face

His mother also seemed sickenly pleased, she had come to him the night before, asking him to leave you and marry Floris, when he didn’t budge she had to confess Borros had Jahaera. That is when he knew he had no choice, but he made his mother budge too, she was not going to betroth you to anybody else, she was not going to send you away.

She was going to him to keep you as his mistress. 

Lord Borros was not happy about it, and he made it clear that he was not going to return Jahaera until after the wedding and bedding ceremony, Aemond was fuming, but he had to comply, that little girl is the only family he had left, the last reminding of his gentle sister, and his last full-blooded niece.

This was the most important day in his life, and the only thing he wanted to do was to run to your room and held you in his arms, tell you everything was going to be alright, tell you he didn’t meant to break his promise, that he meant it every time he said that you were going to be his Queen

But he was tied by the hands

He had to get his little niece back

When the ceremony was over, he bowed but only to his betrothed, kissing her hand and making her blush, he nodded to his mother and to Borros, and then he abandoned the hall under his mother’s worried gaze

He finally went to find you.

it broke his heart to find you cuddled in your bed, crying 

As soon as you heard him come in you raised from the bed, wiping your tears

“My King”, you greeted and under other circumstances, his heart would have roared with happiness, but know he only felt bitter. You sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at him, you thought you saw sorrow in his eyes, but you were probably just imagining things

“My love”

“Please, I have to ask you do not call me that”, you hated yourself for how weak your voice sounded

“That is what you are”, he said, but you only shook your head

“I’m not”, you said, he sat by your side on the bed, leaning over you, trying to comfort you

“My love will always belong to you”, he whispered in your ear as he caressed your hair, “I have to marry her for political purposes, nothing else”

“You humiliate me”, you whimpered, tears running down your cheeks

“I know this is not what I promised”, he said, “but there is an important reason, you have to believe me”, you only looked down to the floor, “but we will be together”, you then looked at him wide eyed, fresh tears forming in your eyes, “being a King’s Mistress is a post of great importance”, he muttered, “and I will legitimize all the children that we will have”

“You told me you were going to marry me”, you whined, “I gave you my body… I let you do whatever you pleased with me” 

“You will be respected, and cared for, you will be treated like a princess again”, he continued his bargain, and you only whimpered, placing your hand over your heart, because it hurt

“Please don’t do this to me”, you pleaded

“Nothing will change, you will be respected, your son will be King one day”

“No he won’t”, you whined, “he will only be a bastard”

“No”, he said, you wiped your tears, angry with yourself for being so bloody weak

“What if I don’t want to?”, to your question his face hardened, and it made you tremble, “you won’t marry me, but you won’t let me marry anyone else, can I please go back to Dragonstone?”, you asked with hope in your teary eyes, but you could tell he was keeping himself in check not to burst in anger

“Everyone knows that I fuck you”, he said in a manner so mean, you whined, “you are going to be my mistress and embrace it, or you are going to be only my whore”, he spitted out, “you have one day to come around”, he said, he stood up from the bed and abandoned the room, and you along the way

What was more pathetic than to cry because a man that abused you and killed your family wouldn’t marry you?

You couldn’t come out with an answer to that question

You had made up your mind that this was what you had to do to make everything worth it, but it was snatched from under your feet like a carpet and now you were landing flat on your face, again.

You whined, as you were hurting in your chest

“You are a Targaryen”, resounded the voice of your mother in your head, “That is all that matters”

“Dragons are fire made flesh, and Targaryens are dragons made men”, said Daemon

“You must be strong”, said Jacaerys

“I CAN’T!”, you screamed wanting all the voices inside your head to disappear, “I’m none of those things”, you whispered sadly 

Aemond was not angry, he was frustrated

He understand you would be disappointed that you were not going to marry him, but he never thought you would have want to leave back to Dragonstone

That is what frustrated him the most

He naively thought that you would want to stay here no matter what

“You will never have her heart”, Alys once said, and he growled when he head her voice as clearly as she was whispering in his ear

The new appointed small council had gathered and he was supposed to be there, once he got there, everybody as there already

Tyland Lannister

Borros

Even his mother even though she didn’t have a clear post in it, but being mother to the King and the Regent as well

“My King”, she greeted, pleased as she saw him enter the room

“We were discussing dates for the marriage ceremony”, said Borros, so pleased with himself that Aemon wanted to punch him in the face

“I think is insensitive… to marry while my brother the King is dying”

“Aemond, I’m aware, but…”

“Marriage, celebrations, are for the living boy”, said Borros, and Aemond’s jaw was was ticking

“In a fortnight”, Alicent offered, and Aemond nodded

“Being considerate of the current climate all over the seven Kingdoms, it is going to be a sober affair”, Aemond said, and he didn’t want to budge on that

“Of course my king”, said Borros

“Ravens will be send communicating everyone of the marriage, but only a few of the most important families will be invited”, said Alicent

“What about the girl?”, asked Borros, and Aemond looked at him 

“What girl?”, he threatened

“Rhaenyra’s last daughter”, he said, “is she your whore?”, Aemond looked at him, a silent warning in his eye

“She is not a whore”, he growled

“You bedded her, you are bedding her…”, the man continued, an the entire council got quiet, waiting for the answer of their King Regent

“But I’m marrying your daughter”, he said with a sharp voice

“You must understand that it is my daughter who will carry the heirs to the throne”, he said with a warning of his own on his lips, Aemond looked at him like he wanted to kill him, which he did

“And you must understand that I’m marrying her”, he said, “instead of the princess”, Borros looked into his eye, trying to intimidate him, but it didn’t work

“Very well”, he conceded 

He was not going to yield to anything else, he couldn’t, he owed it to you. The meeting went long, they started talking about things related to the realms, and that took him the rest of the day.

When it was finally done, the only thing he wanted to do was to see you. . 

He found you still in your room, more calmed than when he left you, when you hear him come in you stood up from your place in front of the hearth and bowed

“My king”, you greeted, with the voice of a little bird instead of a human

“My love”, you flinched when he called you that, but you couldn’t see his reaction as you still looked down to the floor, not daring to look at him in the eyes

“How was your day?”, you asked, adapted a demeanor similar to the one you had learned to have in Dragonstone, like the one of a personal servant, a handmaid. You didn't really gave a shit, but you had to be cordial

“I just had a very long meeting”, he thought it best to keep you away from the details of his marriage to Floris Baratheon 

“I am sorry”, you wanted him to leave, but you were nobody to kick the King Regent out of the rooms of his own castle. 

He walked until he had you at arms reach, and he caressed your upper arms gently

“Don’t you wish we could take a long bath like we did in Dragonstone?”, he offered, you looked at him, and the coldness in your eyes made him shiver, even though he didn’t show it

“We can do anything you like, my king”, you said, again, your voice so low, so insignificant it squeezed his heart, and he, again, was starting to get frustrated 

“Very well”, he had the maids prepare the bath, and when you were alone in the bathroom, he helped you out of your dress, you just let him, he then undid the braids in your hair and removed your jewelry.

You then undressed him, and even appreciated when he didn’t make you touch him

He help you into the bath, and he got in with you

The bathtub was bigger than the one in Dragonstone, you both fit perfectly together. He grabbed the sponge and started to rub your shoulders and your upper arms, he had a fixation with that part of your body you noticed.

You let yourself be handled by him, touched by him

“I love your hair”, he whispered to your ear, and if you haven't been crying for most part of the day, you would have laughed. You had the same color as him

“Thank you, my king”

“please”, it sounded like he was begging, “call me Aemond”, he sounded pitiful

“As you wish, Aemond”, you whispered. He kissed your shoulder softly, gently, as he fingers greedily caressed your back and your body, of course he wanted you, and now it was your job as his mistress to please him in that way

So you leaned back and let him touch you and kiss you

He couldn’t see you, but bitter tears fell down your eyes, but you managed to not make a sound

Luckily he noticed how tense you were, so he didn’t push you, instead he just helped you get out of the tub, he help you dry and then put on your night dress

“I should be doing this things to you my prince”, you offered, even though you didn’t have the strength to do it

“It is alright”, he got you into bed and then followed you, holding you in his arms, you appreciated the comfort, you just wished it came from someone else rather than him

“I’m very sorry”, he whispered in your ear

“You don’t don’t have to be, Aemond”, you whispered

“But I am”, he insisted, “believe me, I was forced into this”

“You don’t have to give me any explanations”, you sai, broken

“But I do”

“Please My King”

“Call me Aemond”

“I don’t feel comfortable, please, just.. let me call you my king”, you insisted, he sighed loudly, but didn’t refuse you

“I want you to call me by my name”

“But is not proper”, you said, “I am not going to be your wife”, his breathing hitched

“Call me your King then”, he relented, his fingers never stopped caressing your arm

You were lucky he wasn’t making you look at him in the day, he was comfortable with only spoon you

“I will sleep with you every night”, he promised

“You wife won’t be happy with that”, you observed

“I don’t give care”, he said

“Please, don’t make this more difficult that is has to be”, you begged him, the last thing you needed was to make enemies with the new Queen

“You can tell her that”, you didn’t press it

Did you even believe him? that someone made him do it? you believed no one could make him do anything, but again, he sounded so sincere when he said he was going to marry you. 

Anyways, you were feeling so terribly every breath you took hurts. 

[wonijinjin]

THE WEEKND SERIES: CALL OUT MY NAME - CHOI SEUNGCHEOL

author’s note: the first work of the series! i am all for strangers to more tropes so i hope you guys will have fun reading it! take care<3

synopsis: will shared fate with a stranger turn into something more, something you had never expected?

word count: 0.6k | genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, dark themes (apocalypse) | pairing: cheol x gn! reader | warnings: mentions of injury, doctors, apocalypse, death

the masterpost to this series can be found here.

the wind was blowing coldly as you reached the deserted capital, body tired from dragging it all day, not finding anyone near who could help you out. in the distance you could spot a silhouette, a human’s to be exact. “wait!” you shouted from the top of your lungs, taking all of your energy and putting it into a final call before you saw the figure turning around, running in your direction. the pain in your injured leg became unbearable and forced your knees to buckle; luckily the stranger who had arrived by your side just at that moment had caught you, laying you down on the muddy ground. “hi.” you smiled at him while his eyes widened in surprise seeing another human alive. there were not many people who survived the earthquakes or the tsunamis after the collision of the meteor. “nice to meet you.” he smiled back at you, inspecting the wound on your foot. “i guess you got this while trying to escape from the storm.” you wheezed. “good guess, sherlock.” his movements halted and he got a roll of surgical tape and bandaids out from his pocket. “so, do you want me to fix you up? you are not doing so well as i can see.” you nodded immediately, thanking him several times. “i have been searching for signs of life for days, but have seen noone so far.” he shook his head in agreement. “because there is almost no human here as of today. i’m surprised to see you here, never thought i would cross paths with someone here. everyone i know is at the same place, the mall. they gathered there, but they are starting to go crazy so i left.” he explained what he knew about the situation happening. your lack of response and the way you stared into nothing alarmed him and he pulled your body towards his so he could see your eyes. “you with me?” he swung his hand in front of your face. you nodded slowly to ensure that you heard and understood him. “good.” he thought for a moment. “must be shock which got you so quiet all of a sudden.” he finished wrapping up your leg, patting it for good measure. “can you stand?” he questioned with a warm look, one which you missed so much, after so long of not being in contact with others. “hello? i asked if you can stand up and walk.” he was crouching next to you, grabbing your chin to check your eyes again. you assumed that he must’ve been a doctor since he was looking for signs of head injury for sure, you knew this much of first aid. you leaned in without thinking, kissing him quickly. this caught him off guard, but it was so quick and sudden that it was over before he could register what was happening. “sorry, i just needed to check if you were real. i’ve been alone for a while, i wasn’t sure if it was just in my head or not.” he had a weird expression but only for a moment, then caught your wrist and lifted your finger to his face, poking it. “you could’ve just done this, you know.” he laughed sweetly, another thing you had been missing from your life. “you are right…” you whispered shyly, a bit embarrassed. “anyways, i see that you are quite lonely. you can accompany me for the time being if you want to. at least i can make sure your leg actually gets better.” you grinned tiredly. “if i’m gonna be your companion i gotta know your name at least though.” he extended his arm towards you. “just call me seungcheol.”

[kylobith]

LotR Week - Day 5 (20th Sep)

Here with me — @lotrweek

All of Rohan stood at the ready in and around Edoras, eager to behold their new king. Everything was prepared and cautiously measured. Banners, flags, food, drink. Hardly any flowers or garlands, but that did not matter to them. The Rohirrim wore their shiniest armour or most fancy dress, their blond heads plaited and adorned with the most intriguing hairstyles for whomever was foreign to Rohirric customs. And there were many who attended from outside the kingdom too.

As Éomer insisted, he would first pay tribute to the funeral mounds of his predecessors, then climb the capital while mounted on his horse, solemnly making his way through his people up to the Golden Hall and his throne, where the crown would be placed upon his brow by his sister. A simple ceremony, despite the symbolism behind it. He was a man of simple taste, like most of his kin. There was no wish for any luxurious display typical of Gondorian events, even though Aragorn’s coronation did impress him greatly.

Éowyn was waiting outside Meduseld by Faramir’s side, dressed in her most formal gown. She nervously fidgeted with the trimming of her sleeve, casting several glances towards the city. She could merely catch a tiny glimpse of the Barrowfield, so crowded were the steps to the Hall. But there was nobody to be seen by the graves. No silhouette, no cloak, nothing.

She let out yet another sigh and flattened her cuff again, realising that she messed it up by tweaking it. Her nerves were getting the best of her.

‘He is late,’ she murmured. ‘I saw that he was clothed on time, so why is he late?’

A hand cupped her shoulder, alleviating some of the weight that she placed upon them.

‘My lady, do not fret so much,’ Faramir whispered to her in his honeyed voice she had learnt to cherish. ‘It is not unusual for ceremonies to run late, either in Rohan or Gondor, I am sure. Whatever is keeping him from the ceremony must be justified.’

Éowyn nibbled on her lower lip, absent-mindedly covering his hand with her own. The warmth of his skin temporarily soothed her, but she could not prevent the whirlwind of possibilities to take over her mind. What if her brother was ill? What if something crucial was missing? What if the blade of his sword had not been polished well enough for his taste? What if he was injured? What if the preparations for the ceremony now seemed too dull to him, and he preferred a Gondorian celebration? What if somebody snuck inside and attacked him?

Another look thrown towards the mounds. Another answerless inquiry.

She shook her head and tugged at her skirt.

‘I must check on him. I just want to make sure that he is alright.’

Before Faramir could seize her hand and hold her back to comfort her, she stormed towards the doors and nodded at the guards to open them. Inside the hall, there were only servants and maids arranging the last details for the coronation, bringing in benches and setting up pelts upon them, as well as on the throne itself. Banners were hung from the lofty arches, bearing the colours of the realm and Éomer’s arms. The mere sight brought some balm to her heart. She could already tell that her brother would be loved by all, as he deserved to be.

But that relied on his presence at the coronation, which was still uncertain. Where could he be? Éowyn searched the kitchens first, wondering whether her brother would feel peckish if he felt anything as nervous as she did. None of the kitchen staff had seen him.

Then, she moved her quest to the King’s Quarters, inspecting the office, the archives, but he kept eluding her. So, as her last resort, she gathered up her skirts and ran towards the royal quarters. As beads of sweat manifested on her forehead and trapped the few flyaway hairs detaching from her hairdo, she nearly sprinted down the corridor to reach Éomer’s door.

When she stood there, she softly knocked but earned no response. Frustrated and stressed from the delay, her fist slammed harder against the wood. Nothing. Yet she would not accept it. She instantly forced the door open and scanned the room. A sniffle from behind the bed caught her attention. She snapped her head towards the source of the noise and followed it.

Huddled up on the floor with his back pressed to the bedframe, Éomer was painfully pressing his knees up to his chest, despite the stiffness of his ceremonial armour. Tears stained his reddened cheek and drowned his unfocused eyes. He looked an utter mess, right when he should not.

Éowyn sank to the floor by his side and held him by the shoulders, trying to bring him to look into her eyes as they bore into him.

‘Éomer, what is happening?’ she whimpered helplessly, taken aback by the alarming sight. ‘Everybody is awaiting your arrival.’

He roughly wiped his cheek, not bothering to look at his sister — or perhaps he felt too ashamed to do it — and sniffed again.

‘I cannot do it, Wyn.’

Her brow furrowed. She could not imagine how her brother, renowned for his bravery and strength of will, would yield to the promise of the throne. Now that their family had been robbed from them, she was most likely the living person who knew him best, and she never had seen him in such a state since the passing of their parents.

She sat down beside him and nudged him with her shoulder.

‘Why is that, Mer?’

He gathered himself up, regaining enough strength to explain his anguish when words so fleeted him. Despite his state, he sensed the urge to spare her from the harshness of what tormented him, in the same way that he had sought to protect her ever since she was born. But there was not much that he could hide from her now. She had eyes, and it was about time that he stopped infantilising her. She had proven herself worthy of the greatest honours; he could no longer confine her to the image of a helpless child.

As if she had ever been that.

‘I never meant for any of this to happen,’ he sighed. ‘Théodred’s passing, the war, our uncle’s passing… I was never educated to become king. I was never taught state affairs. I am a soldier. That is all I have ever been. What legitimacy do I have as a king? I deserve none of it.’

‘Mer…’

Éowyn wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his shoulder. Oh, how it pained her to see him in such a state. Her thumb traced soft lines on his arm at a soothing pace, helping him relax by the minute.

‘You are underestimating yourself,’ she murmured. ‘You have much to learn, as does every king accessing the throne, but that does not mean that you do not know anything. You were a prince once, before our uncle became king. You received the education of a prince by your old tutor. Surely Théodred spoke to you about some things he learnt. You two were close.’

‘He did, but what legitimacy does it give me?’

‘The blood of the royal house of Rohan flows through your veins as it does through mine. You have spent your youth, your whole life defending the realm. You are a war hero. How would you not be the ruler that our kingdom needs?’

Éomer scoffed and planted a brief kiss on her forearm, clinging to it.

‘We have hardly had any time to mourn Théoden and Théodred. Everything happened so fast… My heart is still aching.’

‘War brought much torment to our family and continues to do so even now that it is over. Do not keep the pain at bay. Embrace it, but acknowledge your duty as well, Éomer. Today is yours to seize as our new king. You can grieve for as long as you need to once the crown has been placed on your head.’

‘Will it not alter my capacities to carry on my responsibilities?’

She shook her head and shifted closer to him. This time, their eyes met, and for the first time since everything went dark for them both, they saw the child within themselves and the other. Two children, almost left to their own devices, alone against a hostile world that threatened to annihilate everything they knew and held dear.

For a long time, they only had each other. Théoden and Théodred, as much as they cherished them, hardly understood the extent of their loss. For years they hid their pain to keep up with their uncle and cousin and accommodate themselves into the new roles bestowed upon them. And when Gríma planted his rotten fangs under the king’s skin and poisoned him, the siblings were alone against the world again.

And they would always find each other in the end. Despite Éomer’s banishment, despite Éowyn’s narrow escape from death.

Éowyn tightened her grip around her older brother. She had too often overlooked the simplicity of a fraternal embrace, words of encouragement towards each other. They mattered now. More than ever.

‘You will be a just king, Éomer. I just know it. And I believe in you.’

‘But…’

Tears flooded his eyes anew and spilled onto his beard as he let out a gasped and trembled.

‘But you will not see any of it. You will not be around. I am about to lose you too,’ he wept.

‘Lose me?’

He shrugged and clutched her arm.

‘You are leaving for Gondor. You will settle down there, build a family and a life there. Will I even see you again?’

Éowyn’s eyes widened at his words. Never had she imagined that she had caused part of his strife. She had been elated about her engagement, which was to be announced later on during the celebrations, but she had no clue that Éomer would resent it in any way.

Her thumb wiped away his tears.

‘You are not losing me, Mer, nor will you ever. My marriage will never come in the way of our bond, I promise you that. I will visit as often as I am able, and you will know your nieces or nephews. They will know your name and your face, and their eyes will light up with joy whenever your name is mentioned. I will make sure of that. Besides, you will always be welcome in our home.’

‘Do you really mean that?’

She laughed and ran a hand through his hair to tame the knots that he had created by clutching tresses of it when nobody was looking.

‘Of course I do! You are my brother, Mer, and I do not want a life where you are estranged.’

‘Mh.’

At last, he allowed himself to smile, despite the brevity of the display. She grinned and kissed his cheek.

‘I will always be with you,’ she intoned. ‘Today especially. I am here with you, and I have no desire to turn away.’

Éomer sighed and held her against his heart.

‘Here. With me. Alright. Perhaps I can do this.’

They parted and stared at each other for a few seconds, before chuckling together. She stood up and held out her hand.

‘Come on. Your people are waiting.’

He took it without thinking and allowed her to straighten up his appearance. Before they walked out the door, he halted her with a hand on her back.

‘Before we go…’

She looked up at him expectantly, wondering what he had to say. He was never one for emotional or affectionate displays. Éomer inhaled deeply and smiled at his little sister.

‘You look beautiful today. And you will be the most gorgeous bride in history. And I love you.’

[604to647]

Hat Trick - Part 2 (The Playoffs)

3.4K / Safest with You AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: Din eats you out while you watch a playoffs game. That’s it.

Warnings: 18+ content (MDNI please) F!oral, fingering, nearing overstimulation, dirty talk, pet names as usual (pretty bird, baby, sweetheart, etc.), m!masterbation, established relationship. Inadvertent hockey double entendres, possibly.

A/N: Vancouver won last night so I thought I should post this while they’re up 😂 Inspired by @beskarandblasters’s I Want It, I got It and @swiftispunk’s ask(s) from @arainbowsiren - thank y’all and your respective mens for their service 🫡🫡🤗. You can if you want, of course 😊 but no need to read Part 1, as it’s not a direct continuation. Anyways, go Canucks go! 🏒🏒

If dread is defined as “painful agitation in the presence or anticipation of danger,” then for the entirety of your relationship, Din has never dreaded seeing you.  Not when either of you has had one of those bad day at work where you just need to vent for hours afterwards, or when Jimmy had accidentally used a sweater you left in Din’s office to towel off after a sparring session, or even that time Din took Al to the dog park by himself and didn’t realize the other dog moms were flirting with him until one of them shoved her number into his hand.  Nope, it didn’t matter what nonsense was going on while you were apart, the moment he looks upon his pretty bird’s face, Din’s day automatically takes a turn for the better.

But these past few weeks, Din feels like it’s possible he’s being tested in this regard.  Still not dread… maybe some mild foreboding?  That sounds bad, he thinks.  He’s worried is what he is.

Your hockey team is in the playoffs, and at first you were thrilled.  But your excitement has quickly given way to a much more volatile emotional cocktail of anticipation, nervousness and agitation.  If anything, you’re the one who’s been in a state of dread.

The first round was okay.  Your team won the series 4-1; it was a little nerve-wracking after Game 2, but the team rallied and after some nail-biting overtime games, they prevailed.  At your encouragement, he had hosted the series at his place since neither of you were able to get any tickets for the home games.  You had readily cooked up a storm in the kitchen to work out your pregame nerves, and your friends and the Mandos came over to reaped the culinary benefits of your stress. 

Your friends already knew this about you, of course, but Din is learning that playoffs you is very different from regular season you.  Regular season you loves hockey.  Playoffs you loves winning.

You’re the personification of nail-biting anxiety during every game; eyes glued to the screen, barely eating or drinking except during commercials or intermissions.  Every missed shot on goal results in shouting and arms raised in frustration.  Ever unanswered check on your players, vexation and name calling.  Power plays or offensive drives that can't be capitalized on have you covering your face in defeat.

His pretty bird stresses.

It’s not all bitterness and disappointment, thankfully.  Your face when your team scores lights up entire the room.  Every save your goalie makes has you cheering in elation, high fiving everyone in sight with enthusiasm.  When your team wins, your cute butt won’t stop wiggling with victory dance moves.

But the good cannot come without the bad.  Penalties called against your team trigger a spitting of expletives Din didn’t think were possible from your sweet mouth.  Holes in your defense that the other team exploits have you calling for someone’s head (the coach? The team captain?  Din’s??!)

Every game is a rollercoaster of emotions.

Oh.  And if your team loses… it’s like a dark cloud materializes over your head.  Your mood is already gloomy when the final buzzer sounds, improving only to pouty and restless by the time you start nearing the next game.

Din doesn’t like to see you so stressed (over a game, he might add, if he didn’t seriously fear the repercussions of saying that out loud to you).

Round 2 has been… interesting.  No, that's too forgiving.  It’s been… a nightmare.  You team is down 1-3 in the series and tonight is Game 5.  The make-or-break game that will either eliminate your team from the playoffs, or let them live to fight another game where they can attempt to claw their way to a decider seventh game.  After winning the series opener, the team’s three consecutive losses have left you nearly despondent - your mood getting progressively worse with every loss.  It’s not that you were mean or snappish – you were still kind and helpful, and all sweetness with Din and his friends.  But you smile a lot less and your playfulness is missing; you tell less jokes and your laughter, if any, is shorter and less vibrant than it is normally.  This past week, there’s been an ever present tension in your body that doesn’t seem to melt away no matter how much affection Din shows you, and you’re constantly furrowing your brow at things you read on your phone. 

When you start to make the grocery list for what you need to prepare the spread for Game 5, you call out to Din, “Baby, is Mayfeld going to come over for the game?  If he is, I’ll have to get parsley for the garlic knots.”

“Oh… pretty bird, I think most of the guys are going to go to a sports bar for Game 5,” Din says with a bit a trepidation.  He doesn’t say that he was the one who had made the suggestion that they do so, thinking it was unnecessary pressure for you to host a viewing party.  When Woves and Mayfeld had complained, Din reminded them about how they had both spilled beer all over the carpet during a goal celebration during the last game.  He had found you at 2 a.m. taking out your frustration over the loss with a brush, scrubbing the carpet vigorously on your hands and knees until he had managed to coax you back to bed for what was ultimately a night of restless tossing and turning.

“Did you want to go too?” you ask, wide-eyed.

“Nah, let’s just relax and watch here, baby,” Din’s smile is easy going, “I’ll order in, okay?  No need to make food.  It can just be a relaxing time.”  He hopes he isn’t emphasizing the word relax too much.

You look at him for a beat and nod, before going back to the grocery list.  Din exhales a little breath of relief. 

Game 5 is not going well.

Your team is leading in shots on goal, but just can’t seem convert shots to goals.  Din thinks it’s almost worse watching your body tense up in excitement, just to deflate in disappointment, over and over.  The opposing team doesn’t seem to have the same problem – scoring two goals in quick succession during the first ten minutes of the game that have you flopping back onto the coach, heels of your palms pressed to your eyes as you groan in pain. 

At the first intermission, your team is trailing 0-3 and Din hides (?) in the kitchen while you call Rory and Katie, and the three of you bemoan and rant about the last period over speakerphone.  You pace the same route throughout the apartment so many times, Din wouldn’t be surprised if you actually wore a path. 

He reemerges from the kitchen just as the second period is about to start and sees that you’re already perched on the edge of the couch, elbows on your knees, hands holding your own face as you stare at the television intently.

The puck drops just as Din places a plate of food on the coffee table in front of you, and you look at him with a calm expression and soft, sweet smile that he doesn’t think he’s seen for weeks, “Thank you, bab- WHAT THE HELL!?!?!?”

And like that, it’s gone – replaced by an expression of disbelief as you point agitatedly at the screen.  Din turns to see your team captain skating towards the penalty box, and looks back to see you shaking with fury and muttering, “Hooking my ass...  Barely tapped him…”

“That’s it,” says Din firmly.

“Hmm?” you’re not even looking at him, too busy throwing dagger eyes at the ref on screen who’s announcing the penalty details, getting ready to boo when he’s done.

“Stand up please, pretty bird,” commands Din, not really asking as he slips his paw like hands under your arms and hauls you up gently before you even process his request.  Your eyes narrow as you register something happening, but your attention is still on the game.

It’s not until Din yanks down your leggings and kneels to start pulling your feet through the legs that you snap your head down, “Din!! What are you doing?”

Left in just your pink lace trimmed panties and your “I just hope both teams have fun” sweatshirt, you look at Din with a confused expression. He rises and towers over you purposefully, crowding you back against the couch so that you’re forced to sit down with a bounce when it hits the back of your legs.

“I don’t like seeing you so stressed, sweetheart.  So, I’m going to help you relax, and you’re going to remember that this game is supposed to be fun.”

You screw up your face, unimpressed, “I know it’s supposed to be fun!  I’m having tons of fun.  Look at me, I’m- OH!!”

Din’s had enough.  It wasn’t supposed to be a negotiation anyways.  With one hand, he presses against your chest, forcing you to lean back into the couch, and with the other he spreads open your legs and lowers himself to press a firm kiss right on your clit.

“Din!!”

“Relax, baby,” he mouths against the fabric of your underwear, dipping his head and nuzzling your bud with his strong nose.  He spread your legs wider and holds them open as he starts his slow torture.

The other team’s powerplay starts and you try to keep your eyes on the game.  Normally you would be yelling at the screen for your team to clear it, but right now all you can think about is how Din’s slowly tracing over your folds with the tips of his nose and tongue.

As the powerplay clock starts to wind down, your favourite right winger intercepts a pass and tears down the ice on a breakaway.  Chased by his own teammates and the opposing team, he sets up, shoots and scores!!  Usually a short-handed goal would have you jumping up and down, cheering, but Din’s holding you down and at the exact same moment he gives your mound an open mouth kiss, tonguing your clit with a deliberate flick that has you grabbing onto his hair instead, “Yesssssssss!”

Din pays the goal no mind nor anything else that’s happening in the game, he just continues mapping and teasing your cunt through your underwear with his mouth, tongue and nose until the fabric is soaked through.

You go back to watching the game, half listening to the commentators and half following the players on the ice, all the while whimpering and softly moaning as Din works you up until you’re leaking down your ass, about to make a mess of the couch beneath.  Slowly, slowly, as Din continues to massage and prod at your dripping hole, you start to melt, stress and tension lifting from your body, replaced with a warm, buzzing pleasure emanating from your core.

The period’s half over, and you haven’t yelled at the screen once. 

“Feels so good, daddy,” you whine, when Din’s tongue presses your panties into your seam, forcing the fabric pulled tight and wet to stay tucked between your folds, finally revealing part of your pretty cunt to his gleaming eye.

“Fuck.  Pussy’s so pretty, baby.  So wet for me,” Din growls, and the vibration of his tenor works it way in, riding that same buzzing wave that’s coursing through your body, straight to your throat where it escapes as a tight wail.

“Oh Daddy!”

“Keep watching the game, pretty bird.  And remember… relax,” Din’s last word muffled as he dives face first into your pussy, open mouth kissing your slit - licking every crest and wave he has access to with a low, burning sensuality that’s driving you insane. 

“More, please – Din, I need more.  Ngggh!”

About to pull the damp gusset of your panties to the side and really starting devouring you, Din pauses with a wicked idea.  He pinches the fabric between his fingers and gives it a little tug so that the hem of your panties glides over your clit – the unexpected friction has you yelping in surprise, “Oh, fuck!”

Chuckling, Din tugs the fabric over your swollen bud a few more times and drinks in your heady moans before finally pulling it all the way aside to display your glistening cunt.

“Eyes on the game, baby.”  You look down to see Din’s face buried between your legs, but his eyes are locked onto yours, dark and blown – you nod and flick you eyes back to the screen.  Three more minutes left in the second period.

“Good girl,” Din rumbles against your slick coated seam; he licks a hot stripe from your tight hole all the way up to your throbbing clit, then back down, pushing and swirling his tongue through your arousal.  He hums as he repeats this pattern over and over as you start to pant above him.

“Close baby?”  You look away from the face-off on screen to nod at Din, he’s been eating you out for nearly the entire period of play, building you up from nothing and now you can feel yourself approaching the edge of euphoria, ready to teeter over.

“Daddy will take care of you, pretty girl.  Just relax and watch the game, kay?”

When he sees your hazy eyes flick back up to the tv, he presses in deep, opening his mouth to consume as much of your pussy as he can, tongue dancing through your folds before it burrows into your clenching hole.  His nose nudges your slippery clit as he tongue fucks you with vigor.

Above him, you’re faintly cheering on your team.

“Oh yes!  Press them!  Press them hard!”

“Nice pass!  Fuck, such a good pass!”

“Shoot it, shoot it, shoot it – yessssss!”

You come just as the team’s star rookie scores a top shelf goal, crying out So good, so good, so good as your orgasm washes over you in never-ending waves.  Apparently, you had a lot of pent up stress you needed to release.

Closing your eyes, you rest your head against the back of the couch and listen to the announcements celebrating the goal, coming down from your high as Din continues to press butterfly kisses to your pussy.  Only when you hear the buzzer signalling the end of the period do you open your eyes and smile down at Din, “Thank you, daddy.”

Making a movement to get up so you can dispense a little love of your own to Din, you’re bewildered when Din holds you down with a forearm across your stomach and shakes his head, mouth still latched to your heat. 

“Din.”

Shake, shake.

The movement of Din’s head restarts a warmth in your belly.  Your laugh is featherlight, “Din, I have to get up!  At least let me get up to buy the 50-50 tickets.”

Without releasing you, Din feels behind him blindly with his free hand until he finds your phone on the coffee table and places it in your waiting hands; he then reaches into his back pocket and takes out his wallet which he also hands over before mumbling against your slit, “Buy your tickets, baby.”

“Din, you don’t have to!  I have my ow- ah!”

Having given your clit a playful snip, Din soothes it with a soft kiss, “It’s for charity, sweetheart.”

Dreamily, you sigh in agreement, “For charity.”

Din licks you lazily through the second intermission, cleaning up your spend and using his tongue to spread the fresh slick trickling from your cunt up to and around your swollen clit.  He rests his head against your thigh and chuckles as he watches you take over ten minutes to purchase your charity raffle tickets; you used to only be able to buy 50-50 tickets if you were in attendance at the game, but the team’s charitable foundation had recently started selling them online during the game as well – and it’s taking all your concentration to navigate the site without being distracted by Din’s slow teasing.

You have to enter Din’s credit card number five times before you get it right and you think you accidentally buy twice the number of tickets you mean to.

By the time the third period starts, you’ve lost your underwear; eyes glossing over while you resume watching the game, you’re spread bare for Din as he adds his fingers to his efforts, all in the name of ‘relaxation’.  When your team can’t capitalize on their first power play of the period, he inserts one curling finger, and you concede that the missed goal opportunity isn’t the end of the world.  When your goalie has to make four heart-stopping saves in a row as the other team piles on, Din adds a second, and you passively sing encouraging praise at the TV while dissolving into the couch.  When your coach deploys his special teams, your heart rate speeds up, but not because your offensive line is absolutely dominating in the attacking zone, but because Din squeezes in a third finger, stretching your fitted walls to their limit.

“So fucking tight for me,” Din hisses, looking absolutely hypnotized as he watches his thick fingers disappear into your cunt.  The vulgar wet slaps and squelches your pussy is making nearly drowning out the commentary from the game; you moan and writhe against Din’s hand, begging him for more, “Daddy, so fucking good!  Love your fingers, please… need your mouth, dadddyyyyyyy….”

The onslaught on the ice and against your pussy continue without reprieve; Din nibbles your puffy clit between his teeth before pulling it in between his lips and sucking.  He builds and builds as the team presses and presses, no relief for your poor aching pussy or the opposing team’s goalie.  You think you might float away if Din wasn’t still holding you down, your body tingling right through to the finger tips that you have buried in Din’s hair – you pull him closer, grinding against his mouth seeking, more, more, more. 

“Soak me, pretty girl,” you feel rather than hear, Din’s command echoing deep to that spot inside you only he can reach and the vibration sets you off.  You come, a fresh wave of arousal hits Din’s chin as you chant out his name until you’re hoarse.  Trailing off with a whimper, somewhere through your thick fog of pleasure, you hear the buzzer of the second goal your favourite right winger scores tonight.

The game’s all tied up and you’re spent.

Glassy eyed and fully blissed out, you beckon Din to come kiss you with a weak smile and curl of the fingers on the hand you’ve released from his hair. 

Din’s taking out his cock from his sweatpants and lubing it up with your cum, but he doesn’t rise, “Give me one more, pretty bird.  Let’s make it a hat trick.”

You whine in protest, “Can’t, Din.  It’s too much.”

He fists his hard length and presses the barest of chaste kisses to your still pulsing clit, “Be a good girl for me.  One more, baby.”

There’s nothing, not even winning this game, that you want more than to please him so you give him a brave little nod – even though his feathery touch made you jump.

His thumb brushes gently over your slippery bundle - light pets at first, mindful that you’re nearing overstimulation.  In contrast, his other hand pumps his cock with increasing pressure and speed – already throbbing and painfully hard just from eating you out for the last 40 minutes.  Seeing how turned-on Din is just from pleasuring you has another wave of want coursing through your veins; pushing up your sweatshirt above your braless breasts, you start to play with your tits - pinching and rolling your nipples between your fingers as you throw you head back and moan, low and throaty.

The raunchy sight sends Din into overdrive.  He starts to draw gentle but consistent figure eights over your clit then bends down again to inhale the smell of your honey before pressing a series of sweet tender kisses to your still leaking hole.  All the while, choking his dick and keeping his eyes on you as you touch your perfect tits.  He stays the course with his mouth and thumb, letting you decide how much you can take when you start to buck your hips lightly.

Your third orgasm approaches faster than you anticipate, body already halfway there after that last brain numbing high.  Din reads the tensing of your stomach and your quickening breaths, “Give it to me, baby girl.  Give it to me and I’ll come all over this pretty pussy.”  With Din’s dirty promise ringing in your ear, you come with a shuddering arch of your back and a soundless scream.  Just as you’re completing your hat trick, in an arena across town your right winger is completing his.

But your eyes aren’t for him, they’re for the man who’s now milking his impressive cock, splattering rope after rope of white, glossy cum over the lips of your overwrought cunt.  You giggle as Din runs the tip of his cock through your folds, pushing in as much of his spend as he can before he heaves a heavy, satiated sigh.

Looking at you with a smirk, he chuckles, “How you feeling, pretty bird?  Relaxed?”

You laugh a genuine, musical laugh before pulling his face to yours, kissing yourself on his lips – so euphoric and peaceful from Din’s magical touch.  After a quick cleanup, you rest cozily in Din’s arms, kissing sweetly as the two of you watch your team successfully defend their lead for the final minutes of the game.  Final winning score for your team, 4-3.

Resting your sleepy head on Din’s shoulder, you confess, “I didn’t realize I was being such a stress ball about the playoffs, Din.  I’m sorry.”

Kissing your temple, Din gives you a reassuring squeeze, “No need to apologize, pretty bird.  It’s okay if you get stressed.  Just know I’m always here to help, okay?  I love you.”

You lift your head to nod and mouth the same words back to him, nearly getting lost in the dreamy eyes of the man you can’t quite believe loves you the way he does.  In a little voice you cheer, “We won, yay!”

“Yay!” chuckles Din.

Suddenly, a look of epiphany washes over your face as you pan to the screen where the winning score is displayed in bold font beneath the post game show hosts.  You turn to look at Din, then slowly again to the TV and back.  Sitting up straight, all business-like, you grin, “Seriously, Din - I’m going to need you to do this again.  Every game until we win the cup.”

“Done.”

[darilarostarg]

HOTD Predictions for Season 3  

I honestly cannot tell with all the changes they have made so far where the fuck they are going with this, and I have no idea how they are going to fit this entire story into four seasons, 16 episodes, but here are of my some thoughts/ideas, feel free to leave yours below (please be careful of future plot spoilers below);

I can see season opening one of two ways. I don't think we have time for a ease in episode, given the news of four seasons, so it may be either of the following;

The Gullet

To me this makes the most sense as it happens first in the book. All the Dragonriders that partake are currently on Dragonstone. I also think it would be great tension and drama, that when Rhaenyra does take Kings Landing, she has now lost two sons, a complete an utter betrayal (on purpose or not) when she arrives to see Alicents son, who's head she was promised, is in fact missing.

I also think Baela may partake in the Gullet, replacing Nettles.

2. Fall of Kings Landing

Just as it was set up at the end of S2. I can see the gullet happening while Rhaenyra and Daemon are taking/have already taken Kings Landing (that is why they are not there etc.), but I cannot at this point see Rhaenyra leaving all her dragon riders on Dragonstone if the gullet had not happened yet but CGI budget tells me it will just be Rhaenyra and Daemon lol.

Again the climax of the Fall will be the fact Aegon is not in the capital and Alicent will not know where he is. Alicent and Haelena will finally be taken captive at this point. I also think this needs to happen a little later in the show, as at a minimum we need Otto to return to be executed.

Other plot points throughout season three;

Rhaena claiming Sheepstealer - more a fact than prediction? However completely unsure where it leads to, if i'm being honest. No something I have really seen the vision on yet, as I do not believe Daemon will go to Maidenpool anymore etc. and have that whole part of the nettles arc. Also the blacks will still have a large ridable dragon at the end of the dance which is a little messy for the plot? I maybe Daemon does send her way? Or she leaves herself (the abandoned becomes the abandoner?)

I can see them combining elements of Honeywine/Red Fork/Lakeshore and possibly Butcher's Ball into one single battle. Deaths of Jason Lannister, and Cole (maybe Gwyane if they do not find a way to get him back to the capital before the fall).

Alys fucking with Aemond (maybe visions, I don't think we have the time though?) cause she misses her bestie girl Daemon

Haelena's death :(

Fall of Dragonstone - death of Moondancer :(

Season three ends with Tumbleton - Hugh and Ulf betray the blacks

I also think it is entirely possible they combine elements of Honeywine, Red Fork, Lakeshore, Butcher's Ball and Tumbleton all in one!

Season four possibilities

Gods Eye either episode one or two - Deaths of Daemon, Caraxes, Aemond and Vhagar rip daemon, FREE MATT!!!

However, I could also see them pushing this event out to keep Matt around for longer. God's Eye is an event most people are looking forward to, and they may be scared that people will check out after they lose their biggest name - I hope I am painfully incorrect about this.

Rhaenyra really unravels as she has been betrayed and lost her biggest ally - possibly Corlys turns on her at this point if it doesn't already happen in season three (or at all...)

Storming of the Dragonpit - orchestrated by Mysaria? - deaths of Joffery, Dreamfyre and Syrax

Tumbleton 2.0 - Death of Addam, Daeron, Ulf, Hugh and the remaining dragons (Vermithor, Silverwing, Seasmoke, Tessarion)

Rhaenyra flees to Dragonstone - her death

Aegon is poisoned at this point I think Alicent will be the one to do it lol

Hour of the Wolf - Deaths of Larys and Mysaria

Series ends with Aegon being crowned

So basically three very large CGI and battle sequences each season (with smaller set pieces with the dragons in between) to make it somewhat work, hitting the key points from the book.

Let’s hope and pray HBO have upped that budget lol

[earl-grey-teacake]

Love your work! Is there any updates on the loscar Victorian au bc I need some content for them. I miss Logan so much. 💖

Thank you!!!

Same, watching F1 isn’t the same without him.

I have chapter 1 for the Victorian AU done. I think it’ll be around 4-5 chapters total so I’ll waiting until I have the whole thing written out before I start posting.

There will be more Loscar content coming soon! In the mean time, here is an excerpt from the 1st chapter.

**********

THE MORNING POST

The Social Season has Arrived

March 27, 1876

The opening of Parliament is coming soon and with that, the social season will return to London once more. While those of the nobility and gentry have made their way to the illustrious capital since the beginning of March, the mark of the social season has arrived in the black carriages bearing a silver and blue crest. The illustrious Duke of Mercedes and his family have finally arrived to London.

His Grace, Duke Hamilton is always a welcome sight in London and this year is no different with plans to fund repairs of the orphanages damaged in the storm and overseeing the building of a new hospital. The omega mate of the Duke, the Duchess Nico Hamilton née Rosburg, is set to host the first ball of the social season and has already unveiled plans to support multiple charities. The only son and heir to the Duchy of Mercedes, George Hamilton, Earl of Williams, is set to join his father in a variety of business ventures this year – no doubt in preparation for his soon to be role as Duke. Accompanying them will be the youngest child of the household, a newly presented Alpha, and yet to be titled heir, the Lady Lia, to get a taste of the work she will soon inherit.

The omega mate of the Earl of Williams, the common-born Countess Alexander, has his hands full this season with charity events but also the marriage prospects of the family's only omega child. The Honorable Logan Hamilton, the only son and omega to the Earl and his Countess, is still on the marriage market after a regretful first season.

**********

Thank you ☺️

[maybeiwasjustjade]

Alright y’all, place your bets on the timeline for the rest of the show.

This season has been a mess and a half, and if the new leaks are through then this season has been basically a boring filler for over half of it. Rumor had it that the Fall of King’s Landing happens in the finale. New leaks have come out that nothing of the sort seems to be happening until S3.

Assuming the show lasts five seasons, how do you think each season will pan out?

* 5 seasons because I think there’s too many battles and events for it to end in 2 more seasons, and HBO does not have the budget for a dragon battle almost every episode after 3x01. Also half the cast would be dead by s3 ending alongside almost all the dragons. Even if the show ended with Rhaenyra’s death, a lot of fan favorites will die in quick succession to make up for the shit storytelling. And knowing how pro TB the writers are, I doubt it’ll end before Aegon III is crowned.

What I think:

Season 3:

King’s Landing falls within the first 2 episodes. Aegon is snuck out by Larys alongside Jaehaera. There’s a minor timeskip during the season to prolong Rhaenyra’s reign because the writers seem to be obsessed with her. And because it gives the child characters time to grow up enough for certain events

Maelor is born in captivity, and then snuck out during the chaos of the aftermath of the Gullet.

Honeywine is mid-season episode, and the true introduction to Daeron and Tessarion

Butcher’s Ball will probably happen this season too

The Gullet happens at the penultimate episode. With Joffrey being so young still, he’s sent away with bby! Aegon and Viserys to Pentos. The battle happens; Aegon barely escapes, Viserys is lost, and Jace is more than likely going to be killed by trying to get to Joffrey on time (who probably also dies). Rhaena-as-Nettles feels insurmountable levels of guilt; Rhaenyra blames her for Jace (which leads to the Nettles-Daemon part of the arc).

Finale is Aegon conquering Dragonstone and killing Moondancer. Baela’s fate is left up to interpretation (for now)

Season 4:

Maelor is killed in the premiere as a shock value. Doubt the writers are brave enough to go the Mushroom route of the Brothel Queens arc, but who knows if Rhaenyra goes insane after all but one son is killed. His head is delivered to Rhaenyra. Helaena goes insane. First Tumbleton happens.

Considering the show seems to be trying a little too hard to redeem Daemon at the moment, and if Rhaenyra does go insane after the Gullet, then Daemon might actually go the Nettle arc for Rhaena. Gods Eye happens as the mid-season arc; Aemond and Daemon are both killed.

Second Tumbleton will probably happen before the Dragonpit, making that event the damning end of the dragons. Daeron, Addam, Hugh, and Ulf are all killed, and their dragons too.

Driven to insanity over what happened to Maelor (because it was too similar to Jaehaerys) and the deaths of nearly all her brothers and her daughter and Aegon still ‘missing’, Helaena jumps to her death in the penultimate episode.

The Storming of the Dragonpit takes up most of the finale. Depending on whether Joffrey and Tyraxes do die at the Gullet (or just Joffrey) then Joffrey is lost in the chaos, and all King’s Landing dragons killed. Rhaenyra and bby! Aegon escape.

Season 5:

The premiere episode will probably end with Rhaenyra and Aegon arriving on Dragonstone.

Episode 2 is Rhaenyra’s death. Knowing the show they’ll probably make it that she tries to tell Aegon bout the damned Prophecy while she’s dying. Followed by Sunfyre’s. Chaos reigns in King’s Landing. If the show follows through with the existence of Trystane Truefyre, then he and Gaemon will make an appearance.

Aegon returns to the capital by the end of episode 3. Episode 4 will probably be about Aegon trying to hatch another dragon + agreeing to marry Cassandra Baratheon. The Battle of the Kingsroad begin.

Aegon is poisoned and killed in episode 5. Aegon III is crowned. Cregan Stark and his army arrive at King’s Landing.

The Hour of the Wolf would take up over an episode so maybe 6-7

Series finale will be the marriage between Aegon III and Jaehaera, and the regency of Aegon III. Morning hatches to signify that it isn’t the end of House Targaryen (it is). Alicent dies, representing the death of the Greens.

Alternatively, Rhaenyra dies in the premiere, speeding up the events. Aegon dying and bby! Aegon is crowned as part of the mid-season episode. Aegon III and Jaehaera are married by episode 6, and Jaehaera is killed by episode 7 when Daenaera Velaryon is introduced. The series ends with Viserys’ miraculous return (because Condal and Hess just loves TB that much)

*Hilariously, before the season began I was so sure it wouldn’t last more than four seasons. Rook’s Rest would be 2x04, the Dragonseeds by 2x06, and the Gullet in 2x07. Honeywine and The Fall of King’s Landing by the finale. But for that to happen Maelor and Daeron would have to exist…2 years ago in the writers room.

Then Butcher’s Ball, Tumbleton, Gods Eye, and Dragonstone falling by the end of s3. The ending shot of s3 (or even rhe beginning of s4) would be Aegon claiming Dragonstone after being missing for over a season. Then s4 would just have to deal with Tumbleton redux, and Helaena dying by episode 3. 4x04 would be the Storming of the Dragonpits. 4x05 is Rhaenyra and Aegon III’s mad dash to Dragonstone only to discover that it has been taken. Rhaenyra dies, then Sunfyre. 4x06 deals with Trystane Truefyre and the Kingsroad Battle, Aegon’s agreement to marry Cassandra Baratheon, and then Aegon’s poisoning. 4x07-08 is the Hour of the Wolf, and the series ends with Aegon III and Jaehaera being forced to marry.

[matan4il]

Daily update post:

A second independent terrorist attack since the Oct 7 massacre happened today in Israel, a policeman was attacked in Jerusalem.

On Oct 7, one of the two first horror vids I saw showed Shani Louk's naked body, with broken limbs, terrorists riding on it, being paraded on the streets of Gaza with people spitting on it. Anyone who saw this vid knew she wasn't alive, but people online were adamant on discrediting the reports about the massacre and its brutality, so they denied Shani was murdered. Someone also lied to the family, telling them she's alive and receiving medical care in Gaza. Of course the family held on to this glimmer of hope, and then people quoted the family as if that was proof she's alive and Israel lied. Today we heard Shani's dead. The IDF found a bone from the base of the skull, and its DNA matches Shani's. No one can live with that bone broken or missing. This confirms Shani is dead. The three weeks of false hope that was given to the family was emotional torture. Now, they can't have a funeral since there's no body, but they will be sitting shiva.

This is from yesterday:

A mob stormed an airport in the capital of Dagestan, a republic in Russia. There are REGULAR flights to Israel for people seeking medical treatment here. Despite the fact that this route serves mainly non-Israelis, the entire day social networks were used to encourage people to come get the enemy. The mob stormed the tarmac and demanded to check people's passports, to see who's a Jew. The Jewish passengers were hidden until they could be evacuated from the airport. This follows another incident there this week, where a mob stormed local hotels with the same demand.

If you're asking yourself why I'm including reports on antisemitism elsewhere in my Israel news updates, the answer is that the fate of Jews everywhere is linked. Israelis are always taking an interest in the well being of the Jewish communities elsewhere. Being in the middle of a war started by Hamas' massacre doesn't change that...

We see the rise of antisemitism in Cornell University, too:

Hamas, which claims to be fighting for the Al Aqsa mosque, has fired at Jerusalem again today. At least 6 rockets were intercepted by the Iron Dome system.

Hamas also published a vid with three kidnapped women as a part of its psychological warfare, they're reading out a message against the Israeli Prime Minister, which was most likely dictated to them. Israeli news outlets aren't publishing it as a refusal to play along with Hamas' psychological manipulations.

And this is Liat, one of my two kidnapped colleagues, with her husband, who is also being held hostage in Gaza:

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)